heavenly catastrophe ♰°•🪽🩵 (a poem, song)

boys look like angels, but they talk like devils. they know how to wrap you around their finger like a string pulling in a fish like a line on a hook, it leaves me shook. I read you like an open book, your not open-minded your just optimistic. your not plain sighted, your invisible. your divisible, divided into equal halves. two faced, broken apart. shattered heart. I take pieces of myself to put you together, after every endeavor. ask for a favor, one more taste of that flavor. addicting and sweet like apple pie, leave me to die. don't you cry, I'm oh so shy but don't fool me I'm not blind. as for the quiet are not of the weak, victimized every week but we are not deaf we see, we hear. more than you know. more than you will ever show. it's the silver lining of it all, the final call. if boys are angels let me be your saint, I feel so faint. I paint the things around me for I am quiet the observer of the world, the great wonder of curiosity of mystery. lurking in the shadows is all so clear, there's nothing to fear. my dear I have longed for you my whole life, you'll never know the tip of the iceberg the slice of the knife, the fly of a kite on a winter's day middle of may. Its where you lay, in the summer's day grass. life moves so fast it will only continue to last as we preserve our past for it holds the deeper purpose the meaning behind the philosophy, the prophesy. humbly, modest and so, so kind. it tastes like lemon, it tastes like lime. sweet and sour, the sea salt left on the beach as the tide grows slower. the moment you get closer. the gentle brush of fingers and the light tap on your shoulder. the gentle touch of the one you love. the smell of the air after rain, the sound of a plane. it's such a shame what has gone to waste, in this place this sacred space. a haven for the lonely, a hell for the only. powdered chalk and rubber bands, a long walk holding hands, a simple song along crystal sands. individual strands of hair, brushing into the sight of the darkness. I wish you would care, life is not fair. still I hold on by a thread, a needlepoint stare. a glance over there, a feather of a doubt. to laugh, to shout. for that is what a memory is about.

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