[Zombie]

we all have a harmonic potential to love in mnemonic arrangements
sequential evolving in a whirlwind dubbed: platonic creation
the constellations? celestial. a series in tangential space
when stars do ballet to tectonic shifting through their porcelain grace
a source that cascades. First girl I ever loved was a metaphorical case
the last girl I love. probably already revealed, or in incessant concealment
these lovers, define how you embody how love is supposed to allegedly feel
you unexpectedly reel in a relative scheme. harpoon my hearts' moon tentatively
i walked the plank. cast my net with lovers' bait, to plenty of fish in the sea
only to come up empty. Romeos paramour hangs in the balance
every former-flame, was a challenge, coordinated collapse
formulated a atlas, portraits and contours painted on maps
for every gradual portion of graphs, a longitudinal placement alas
latitudinal lust canvass. precedent sex events was a mutable practice
where kisses are encompassed on a delineating globe
beautiful palace. strobes, on this lovers seize of Rome
with contraceptive love directions. its where the rubber meets the road
summoning the oath. You recall moments that never even fucking erected
so much blood pumped into perfection. Your definition of love never mustve existed
YOU sedate the concept. YOU embrace its content, with rudimentary logic
The person is real, and the feelings are real-but you create the context
who's to say, the onset of delusional standards is currently present
shedding tears are an excusable manner for the blurs in each segment
"TOLD you EVERY sound and verb." X-RAYS only painted tincture of empty closets
you sapped the thousand words out of every picture that came across it
Your wavy strands of amber hazel, pulled my grace. A soldiers statue
lulled my lonely vacuum. You were the moon that sailed my ship, it's hulls and gates.
The person who construes your perception of love is not inherently different
than anyone else. just a separate decision, through eugenics. through physics
through tenuous, vivid, mentions of lipstick. the first pecks you'd get to envision
and you're so lonely. a stone trophy. these people aren't different, or above humdrum
they're often just the person you happen to meet first time you really, really want to love someone.
but that person still wins. They win, and you lose.
sedated. your screws loose. creative, but cuckoo.
sort of depressing. the way they oversee every restriction, every position you felt
Because for the rest of your life, they control how you feel about everyone else