Photo by Roberto Tumini on Unsplash

How Do I Tell You

a poem

How do I tell you…

that i’m dying.
dying to live.
dying to make memories.
dying to dance in the streets under the glows of the rising moon.
dying to call upon you as if you’re my one.
But we’re all dying, so what’s the big fucking deal?

How do I tell you…

that i can’t stop thinking about you.
you’re like a small town post malone.
fuck me.
it’s as if you’ve got my mind swimming in a whirlwind of amnesia.
But will the future end as quickly as the past already has — vanished into nearly thin air?

How do I tell you…

that your lips upon mine give me butterflies.
and for you babe, i don’t mind the halt of my breathing as you whisk me away.
time ceases to keep continuing, suspended in the moments of bliss.
i fall.
i fly.
i can’t fucking feel a thing but you.
But everything is temporary, no?

How do I tell you…