Foolish boy
You have a mouth
stupid with love
to place all your
shaking hope  
inside me

You dream violently of her
with soft nightmares to follow
Confuse the bridge
of her tongue
with water leading to me and 
You keep cutting your feet
on a beach made of glass 

Do you not get it?
Do you not see how 
you always end the night
staring at me whilst
searching for her
And I

I remain bright for you
while this little girl
flickers and dims  

You greedy moth
You are so drunk on
delusion you can’t see
I never wanted to
be a beacon for your future    

Be color blind Gatsby
will me red  
I am all stop signs
and warning that
Daisy is the bouquet
for your casket

You are bound to her  
whipping post made
of negligence
And you come to me
begging for another lashing
every night

I want you to turn away
Try to understand that
Not all light needs
an audience

Not all pretty things
will handle you with
the same fragility they
are dressed in 
This dance between
And i
And you
needs to end eventually

is making a
mockery of how
you foxtrot over
your ankles just
to have your words
tango with hers

She does not speak
in selflessness like us

She is heavy handed
and the stars are screaming
an amen with me as I say this

Leave you
hopeless romantic
for she will not do
the same for you

You are mistaking 
her wasp nest heart 
for a beehive 
There is no sweetness 
to be had here 

She is salt 
and you are the slug 
I am watching you shrivel every time
you stare at me in this daze 
You act like you enjoy
suffering at the hand of unrequited 
because you don’t know any better

Take one last look at me
I will make myself
into her silhouette 
just for you to call me her name
But I do not want to see
you here again Gatsby
Do you hear me? 

The tides between us
are trembling
Death is peeking out
from behind the Moon
And i can’t hold
him off much longer  
We both know how this
will end if you continue
picking petals
made of uncertainty
trying to recreate 
flowers in bloom

—  The Green Light Speaks to Gatsby - KiNG
She was beautiful, but not like those girls in the magazines. She was beautiful, for the way she thought. She was beautiful, for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved. She was beautiful, for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad. No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul. She is beautiful.
—  F. Scott Fitzgerald.