The tandem beating of a broken sonnet, a soiree for the dead. Your lips wet with dust, your eyes dry. I've tried a million times over to jigsaw us together, missing pieces are inevitable. Your concerns are minuscule, pixels to a forgotten monitor.
I'm sick, and I'm sorry, I can write, I try not to. I love you, I try not to.
When I'm with you, fallacy is mediocre, I can lie only because I want you more, I know the truth isn't the brightest speck there is. 
I lust for you on occasion, but I've come to understand that is imperative that I do, lust fosters love, as much as we deny it, I wouldn't want to see you wrangled and near dead. I want you with me, not because I'm fragile, a part of me just doesn't want to see you go away. 
I'd pull down all the stars I can find, I'd blow out the most emanating lights in the sky, I'd do it in word, I'd do it for you.
I love you, I don't want to lose out on us.
-Angad Nanda