ur sleeping on the couch

a poem for a mess

she
has a bundle of celestial art, comets tucked with her curly hair behind her ears. she's pandemonium in her home and the excitement of a whirlwind in the hallways. who would have thought the color of sunshine yellow on her earth skin would look as good as it does in real life? she smells like daisies and watermelon, she's striving to understand the meaning behind each petal on each flower i try to grow. she makes rhapsodies out of the tears i cry. i realize now, i really do love her. she will always own a chamber of my heart. she falls asleep to soft piano, me singing, and post-indie dream pop. she's got a book for each heartbreak; the ones she's written herself and the ones she's borrowed from other writers. she wears too many rings and drops them too often. she's got a stream of consciousness as wild and rocky as the river styx; plunge yourself in pain and withdraw your body as eternal. she will keep you alive in the blood running through her body. she's the most alluring form of chaos, the type that reminds me of city subways and running mascara.
the mark she'll leave on the world is going to be groundbreaking, how could it be anything less?