The Flowers of Death

I’m beginning to see thru my rose colored glasses,I wonder if that’s why he keeps buying me more rosesSo my attention isn’t on those hanging dead above my bed.But rather on a bouquet so fullof the colors I’d imagine hope and affection would beRed, pink, whiteSo pure, never comfortable but eccentricAs if it promises a lifetime of love,although he never dare hint at those wordsA bouquet of wishful thinking.I’m slowly realizing the flowers wilt a lot faster than beforeAt first I thought the cause was something I was doing wrong.I tried pouring fresh water in dailyThought perhaps maybe that would encourage a chance of longevityBut as the rose tint grows clearer,my theory now is that the blame is not on mebut the bouquet itselfFor rather than plant a garden full of rooted promises,I’m gifted cut roses.Knowing they will wilt for they’re already deadAnd the plant food he would gift mealong with the bouquet of wishful thinkingseems to be no longer availableSo I lay on my bed, and gaze upat the the once red, pink and white flowersthat have turned into a dark hueAs the bouquet he gifted a couple weeks ago,resting in a vase they never quite fit have followedI shan’t ask for more thoughFor if I do, I become “pushy” for sweet nothingsI wonder if that’s for the best,Because why would I devoted myself to death?

Disorganized Attachment

I destroyed what we were creating,Unconsciously pushed you away.For, I never know what’s a normalNor acceptable space neededIn order to keep at bay.I despise the sensation oflimitation, expectation and nuancesYet when the suffocation and confusionbegins to start,A gravitational force slams me intoEvery nook and cranny of the personI convince myself you are.Despite the anxiety of intimacy,It’s almost impossible for me to part.My insecurities whimpered a panic.The idea of abandonmentDue to any sudden change of hazeate me up insideUntil I encompassed everythingI feared you would be.And although it could have be avoidedIf I nurtured my existence with quiet and a few moments awayI never dare gave you the chance to fleeNor me a moment of peace.I grabbed on and helduntil it was you who couldn’t breathe.It’s ironic to think that what I feared was a manifestation of what would be.For if I could just learn to dismiss the realityI fabricate,Perhaps I wouldn’t have devouredAnd spit outThe dreams of our yesterday.

Menthol Kisses

Miles of wind pushed us through valleys and desertsDrunk and at our peakI believed in every wise thing you had to say.Time has passed us.And our conversations replay.So many vicesYet growth has been castedAs I followed your “lessons” day by day.I question as to how I became betterWhile you sunk down in your hole.You claimed to have shown me your soulBut now I see I’m the only onewho shared the truth of my core.Disappointed in the man who I once praisedThe facade has finally been raised.Now I see you’re a con man of all traits.Still a part of me wishes it all was untrueBecause the new love I have towards lifeWas created from the lies of you.

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If the world were to end today what would I have to negotiateWhen I have that final wave In sight,will I imagine somewhere dark or light?I wonder how it would feel to die,To no longer feel the breezeThat reminds me I’m alive.Could I say I’m proud of who I’m aspiring to beIf we all were swallowed up by the sea?

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My mind is pounding endlessly against my skullCountless phrases of hatred towards myself are echoing louder than I can control.It’s itching in my skin.Begging to get out.To grovel low enough to reach that satisfactionWould ultimately give the demons deep in the shadows of my soul much more ammunitionAnd me, more doubt.No matter how much I push my psyche to look towards the light,Further and further it refusesUntil all the optimism I so desperately crave is no longer in sight.A few bad turns have lead me in disarray,Can someone please remind me that in the end I’ll be okay.

The Labyrinth

Lately I feel like the truth of my core is what I desire to find. But in doing so I'm losing myself within my own mind.I lay wide awake in the middle of the night. Attempting to organize the millions of thoughts that keeps my spirit hidden inside.Running through this maze I wonder if I’ll ever make it out alive. With each divergent view, I tend to follow the obvious path, full of light. I claim a want of honesty. But with each step taken, secretly I am hoping there aren't more demons left to fight. Scared of the dark, for, that’s where the unknown lies.I travel in circles of what is known to my conscious mind. But, what's in front of me isn't all there is to see and I sense this deep inside. To reach the end, I know I must confront all that I am avoiding. The more introspective I become, the greater the fear is that my soul is what I’m destroying.Anxiety devours me as I fall more into a pit of uncertainty. My sanity is on the brink of losing all aspiration in sight. The route I am on begins to dim. It seems like there is no alternative trail left that's bright.So now I pose the question that's been causing these black holes disguised as eyes. When my world turns dark and the path is no longer: Who will I be tonight?

After Midnight

I think there is something beautiful about having a past. Stories that strangers aren’t worthy of. Secrets that lovers might hear in due time.Perhaps I am too hasty when it comes to revealing my essence. I put myself on a platter to be devoured. All my doubts and fears- my hopes and dreams. Injured and pure loves. All that makes me, I lay with bare. My heart isn’t worn on my sleeve, it is tattooed on my forehead for everyone to see.There is magic within a mystery. I desire to be more like Houdini. I have heard Magicians never reveal their secrets. But surely they know how transparent to be and whom to trust.Maybe I do have a lot to say and no one to say it to. But, why is that a bad thing? Always, I am scared of time. Worried everything within is going to rupture me into a demise. It could very well be that everything I wish to speak is not creatively developed enough to be showcased. I must first master the art of concealment. Then reflection. And when the moment is right, when the natural shine blesses its rays from above me as if it is a spotlight- that is when I will gently hand over pieces of the puzzle that will form the tale of my existence.Only the most remarkable will learn my secrets.

the bitter and the sweet.

I’ve realized that you can’t possess moments. You experience them once and reminisce the further away they get. It seems as if they fade away. But, I truly believe that they become us. Eventually, like the pink and orange and blue that mixes in the sky at sunset: water color- all those special memories blend together and form the YOU death will meet.I think love works the same way.You can’t hold essence. At least not that of another. You must have appreciation of the impact they’ve made within yours.