I'm afraid that my heart will explode from its chamber and run off at the dangerous thought of you.

And the world could tell me I'm just terrible for doing what I do, living a blackened lie but I'd rather own up to a broken heart than a broken neck.

It begs the question, who's the hostage here?

It's you that makes my eyes glow and those smiles of yours send warm blizzards down my vulnerable spine.

I'm no better than a desperate crack-whore begging for a fix from you.

I'm God-fearing at the mere thought that this will be the last time I'll see the moon above my head with you.

You are my living reminder that there are better days written in my book, you are the flames that split through the Phoenix feathers in my invisible wings, you are the one that fixes me when I break -- a doll with her loving, meticulous Geppetto.

And I miss you: you're home to me.

I want to kiss your lips when the sun kisses its beloved sky with blooms of sunlight or plumes of nighttime.

I want the world to know that you are not just the shadow at my heels, that you are not just another nameless face of the company I keep.

I want the world to see that you are my marble hero, the reason why I stand so tall -- day in and out -- as life's stubborn soldier.

Secret admirer -- I love you, and if the sky falls tonight, I'd love you all the same.

Get the hell out of my closet.