Sun Split Flames

[builtgodnowwhat]

I'm drunk on delusions and poetry.
I'm high off the thought of you.
Buried deep in my heart, there's a chest
of forgotten confessions.
Even after the darkness,
I still look at you like
you're the sun.
Your still my favorite
form of poetry.
You're the best kind
of poetry.
But with every piece of poetry,
there's a yearning poet.
With every poem,
there's a sea of words
from the dismal.
I still search for some kind of sign,
as if there is hope to the dead.
It's hard to accept heartache, but its
harder to keep that heartache to yourself.
I hate that I can't move on from you, but I hate
that I'm still in touch with hope
that should be dead.
Please forgive me for how I feel about you.