dare to reach
in your pupils.
beauty if you can find it.
i want to have my dream-stained
a touch of morning dew.
an alphabet of rejected
i watch your mouth
on the ground
we are breathing, but heavily.
windows facing west
she looks at me and there’s a (faint) glimmer of
gilded murder cloaked in oceanic magic.
count every movement in seconds.
all of this and heaven too.
like an argument strangled by its premise
of dead ideas
the death of you,
our world composed (entirely) of wood.
This poem is composed entirely of lines I borrowed from random poems by Paper Plane Pilots