my pen ceased to move
involuntarily to your soul,
but darling my thoughts have
since never stopped dancing
ever since that fateful summer
when you collided it into motion.
my faith may be a reckless phantom
but my eyes are your scarlet letter
and i’ll always see the world for how
you built it according to your word
of eloquence, of madness, of every sigh;
and i’ll never forget the melodies
that embraced all the darkest parts
Of my liquid nightmares, and pulled
them back slowly into the sunlight
until the nights felt warm with hope again.
i’d call you an angel, if it isn’t overused
and i think you already know that anyway—
but always know this to be the truth:
you may not always be the last thing on my mind,
but darling, you will always be the first.