Weird Poetic Rant

fascinationcity:

I’m thirty thousand feet up.

All 5 parts of me are out of wack, I swear, I’m seein’ stuff.

I keep tellin’ myself, that I’d refuse to make room for you.

But I know that you know that I’d face my doom if I’m not soon to you.

I wish I knew you, but you’re just my ideal vision.

You’re like Cyclone to my Joker, no chance for division.

I’m a Greeed with 9 medals, you might be my tenth.

This feeling of incompletion is why I decided to vent.