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a bouquet of roses

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The smoke diffuses in the clear air, the ground damp from yesterday’s rain. Some faces have decipherable expressions — joy, sorrow, despair, cruelty, kindness. Some faces are like mine — with an unclarity so evident that it scares the bravest souls. I can’t even look at the pavement the same now. It’s scary how often I imagine the bouquet scattered on the damp cement, the wilted roses just a reminder of how broken I can be. The pink parchment not holding them together anymore as they get trampled on, their story a lost symbol of their lost fragrance.  Was I that bouquet to those I loved once? Held to their chests when I’m significant, yet thrown to the ground when I don’t make sense anymore? My soul lays scattered in a thousand shards now. You can’t gather me without scarring yourself. You can’t fix me without being broken yourself.  I don’t want to break you; not when you dare to glue me back together. Careful as you walk over my pieces, they are sharp enough to cut you. Would y
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sunflower

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I'll be fine one day. Maybe won't see the colors as bright, Not be as shiny as a stroke of light. The yellows and oranges and pinks won't appear, And, oh, the sunflower we held so dear. What do I do , I ask you. What do I do as it gets tougher and tougher to cry, My joy, my thoughts all gone awry, My cruelty all spent on me. What do I do of my ears that search for your laughter? Not gone today, tomorrow, or the day after? What do I do of the days I'll spend crawling back? I don't hear the silence, I just sit in it. All I hear is your voice in your words, Coax myself to shield, 'cause it still hurts. It still hurts, but I don't show it. Neither do you, even if it ever hurt you. Does your heart ache like mine does? Do you plan out your days so you won't spend a moment thinking of me? ...but still do? Do you think of me like I do? I'll be fine one day, I tell myself everyday. Perhaps see the colors of what they are. Perhaps trust those that seem real. N
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bleed

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Cover my heart with scratches and wounds, Let it bleed as it beats slowly. With bleeding cuts across my chest, tattooed streaks on my cheeks, I walk down the emptiest road, Tears glistening as the streetlights flicker to death. I stare at the moon tirelessly, Wondering if it's still the symbol I so desperately wanted it to be. My vision blurs as the white shines down the street, My hands freeze as they numb in the cold air, My legs shake from the long way I've come, My breaths get shallower and shallower. I don't know how long I can hold out now. The street is too empty, the path is too dark. It is too cold. What's the point of suffering when the suffering leads nowhere? What's the point of breaking the fall when my knees bleed anyway? I drop down. Tired— Wasted away like the burning flower that never reached full bloom. My chest still bleeds as my arms wrap around me, My blood stains my whole being until I'm nothing but a crimson shadow. A shadow that refuses t
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yesterday

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What do I have to go on? Is it the thousands of words of love that echo in every corner of my heart when I remember you? Or is it how those echoes don't pierce and shatter each muscle? Is it the shadow of your touch across my skin? Or is it the way I feel nothing of it? Where do I go now? If not your arms when I'm frightened of the dark, Do I seek mine in this dread? If I don't run to you... To whom do I run? What do I feel? Do I miss you, hate you, love you, call for you all at the same time? Yes. Every fibre of my being wrestles to hold onto you, While my heart — already beaten down in love — lets you go like just another yesterday. How could you be just another yesterday? Three-hundred and fifty nine days that I would never cry for? How could the remembrance of you not rip me apart? How does seeing your face be just another event of my day? Am I content with you losing me? Will I be okay with losing you? I laugh at my insincerity. Of course , if you ask me to— I'll c
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break my heart

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break my heart. break my heart and shatter my expectations leave me wondering about all the things I did wrong, leave me wondering if I could've done it better. maybe, if I dressed your wounds with my blood, carved a cross onto my chest that binds my faith to you — my soul would still be in one piece, my heart still unbroken. cross the stars. the stars of us that glance down from the night sky. the stars that spin around each other, desperate not to touch. desperate to never feel the spark that just sits between them. for once, cross them. For I am the force that keeps them together, You are the repulsion that pushes them apart. I am the getaway town you rush to, And you're still my home. mend my heart. I beg you — mend my heart like you always do. keep me close enough, keep me wondering if I'll, one day, be good enough. maybe, if it all comes to an end,  if all the doors shut in my face and leave me no escape, I'll fix my own heart that you'll always leave broken.
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vulnerability

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If I show you all my demons, and we dive into the deep end, Would we crash and burn like every time before? Isn't vulnerability a virtue?  The love that reaches into my chest and swirls around my heart when I open up, the comfort that radiates from my limbs when I rest my head on your shoulder, and the way I would never trade it for anything else. I laugh and dance and sing with all my heart when I am with you. I feel at home, comfortable, and myself. I don't feel like a sword hangs above my head, waiting to shatter me into pieces the moment I am too much or too little. You say that I'm enough. All of you say that I am perfect as I am, as I do the same for you. Imagine, if I wasn't vulnerable. My smile would be caged behind a cyclone of reticence and emotions that make no sense to a person who wants to love. My laugh would be a giggle, ashamed to be freed into the dark and scary world. My voice wouldn't reach its highest octaves to sing with you, and I definitely wo
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glory of the moon

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the moon burns to an ochre ash, unflinchingly obvious: unafraid and scintillating. with stolen heartbeats, it glows brighter, with remnants of lost loves, it turns deeper — yet, if the moon knew of my love, perhaps, it would appear as seraphic to you as it does to me, perhaps then, the glory of our love wouldn't be of ruin; it would become the glory of peace. the glory of bliss.
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