I am a hopeless romantic, a washed up
cynic, an eternal idealist, a
wild-eyed fatalist and the world is
You like me because I wear my heart on my sleeve
and you know I secretly wish it would burst,
just so I can escape from the pressure in my veins
from being entranced by you.
You love my die-hard romanticism,
my full, unquestioning devotion to
over-arching ideals –
fate, love, beauty – you are
fate, love, beauty.
You love my auburn eyes, the way I
shine when you talk, and the way you
hope we are the same.
You love the way I know you, and the way
I kiss, and you love me the most when
I offer you my skin.
You love hearing me jabber to the moon,
and calling me beautiful because you think you can,
you love capturing me with art.
You love me, you loved me, you ached for me
and loved making me ache for you, you
gave me love is and love is love is
love is us.
We won't let anyone else define us,
you said, we both know we're
hot music on secret nights smiling through the dark.
You, my red heart beats for you,
my nights belong to you,
and the world resides within us.
We are simply hungry children with
protruding bellies from empty hope
and starved, starred eyes.
You, you, you, you think you love me
but you’re starving
and as I wish to fill you with love
we all suffer from being heartbreakingly poetic.