He has stars in his eyes and galaxies in his mouth.
When he speaks, his red lips give you a glimpse of the beautiful light of hope, in which you do not believe anymore.
He is governed by the passion that lights up his eyes and burns on his breath.
His hair is glowing sunshine, beautiful to the eye, but so painful to the touch.
You do not believe in anything and so, you share his world at the bottom of each bottle that you finish.
You hate him as much as you love him; he is your only God, your prophet.
The cynicism dripping from your bottle collides with his idealism.
He is charming, but for you he is terrible.
He will lead you to your loss.
You will go willingly.
You would bleed for him would tear your heart out under his command.
He does not love you the way you love him.
He thinks nothing of you.
Absinthe stains your lips.
You lower your eyes.
He shines too intensely for you.
The star-boy dwells in your blackened heart.
You think he does not see you.
His eyes find yours.
He's seen you all along.
Let me know if you like it, or don't I'm just happy you read my poem :) I'm Enjoltaire trash, so...blame me or don't :)
