His voice,
voyages through the darkness of every
cornered shadow, chasing after the reins
of ultimately being consumed,— annihilated.
As if being pressed to the heart
of an angel; as the tears of stars are
dancing in the drape of faultless dark,
Sweltering bright, — as a flame impaled
his gaze, with the loudest of needles.
Every breath grew harder, and harder,
as if the same needles were jabbing around
in his stomach— they must have been nerves;
the butterflies he had felt, declaring his
hidden affections to a crush.
The same crushing feeling you
have for a crush, that you hope
won’t crush you with their refusal,
But rather crush you with
the crushing idea:
of falling in love.
