The typical measurements,
for the all too predictable insights.
High measurements at that,
held much too high:
becoming disproportioned, wounded lies.
They're meaning nothing now
but once you can see
you'll be regretting them all.
Regret. So easily used,
with such a heavy burden.
Lose your burdens,
your measurements,
your sad songs,
and the sappy love letter.
Lose yourself in it,
lose everything.
Breathe in the taste and feel the smell that lingers through your beautiful pores.
You don't have to relate;
my time is yours.
But yours is not mine
for I need to sense these
spoken words and stop thinking about it.
About you.
This second is your greatest memory in the present.
It won't last.
You won't either.
But who's counting?
Not a soul. Because it doesn't matter.
You are matter.
You can be the substance I abuse.
As was meant, your light will fill me.
Consume me until I am a breathing coffin. Breathing a whisper to the heaven you put too much time into. Telling Zeus that you don't need this.
You need your heart,
your curiosity.
Your feelings.
And trust me, love; they're yours.
But only mine to keep, to hold me still.
Be sure to flutter my life in short pages,
and tear them loose,
embracing the sky.