I want to tell you--
I want it to make sense--
I want--
I don't know what I want.
Happiness?
Sure, everyone wants that.
Love?
It's only ever been a dream.
You?
Oh god, you.
You with flowers and thorns in your hair,
Stars and supernovas in your eyes.
You with a warrior's heart.
You are so much more,
So much...
More.
I wish I could put it into words,
How much I think about you,
Worry about you,
Sigh your name against my hand
Late at night.
How silly and strange that must seem,
But I don't care.
I don't
Care.
I'm a cataclysmic train wreck,
A devastating disaster.
I don't deserve you,
At all,
But I am so desperately in love with you,
That the idea of losing you--
Of losing the home that I've found
In your arms--
It rips me apart.
I want to tell you--
I want it to make sense--
I love you
And I'm sorry
YOU ARE READING
i exist [as the definition of nonexistence]
Poetry/ˌnänəɡˈzistəns/ the fact or state of not existing or not being real or present. (alternatively: the state of having dug your own grave into the wet earth of a forest far from everyone who ever pretended to care, lying down and letting maggots make...