Twenty three times I have ended Up saving you But what nobody Talks about are The fifty four Times I watched You save yourself Your eyes are A universe and Your voice speaks From another room As you tell Me that sometimes It is a Tragedy to be A writer, but Mostly it is Just a way Of bringing yourself Back from the Grave, to be A writer is To jump from A cliff and Yet escape unhurt.
Gloriously is one Of your favorite Words, you love How it simply Rolls from the Tongue and makes The softest of Sounds as it Hits the grass Psychopath is another And sometimes you Wonder if you Are one, often Your mind ends Up taking a Detour into the Realm of insanity And the thing That terrifies you Most is how Normal it seems How thin the Line between both Ends up being.
The touch of Your fingers is Like electricity flooding Through my skin I gather small Flecks of stardust The rare ones That fall to The floor, and Put them in A glass jar The light that Reflects back from Them is like White hot heat Framing my face That is how You live, that Is how you Love, it will Be short, it Will be sweet And it will Burn with the Fury of one Hundred and one Unloved crimson stars.
Yes, it's cringy, but I am past the point of caring. (probably)
Edit: Any writer recommendations on Mirakee whom I can follow or read their works? Would love to actually do my part as a reader here for once. P. S. Especially those whom you think are underappreciated.