I don't know if this makes sense
But my garden grows inward.
It takes the rain of negativity
And wraps itself around sensitivities.
Trauma grows like roots around my heart
And drains the calcium from my bones.
Blooming into ingrown flowers
Dark with the fresh blood of regret.
My fruits rot inside the ground
Fertilizing the soil for a new inverted crop.
My memories spread into Ivy
Growing inward choking my circulation.
My body absorbs Toxins like Water
Feeding the weeds in my head
Which grow inside and knot themselves
Into Tumors of Longing.
I don't know if this makes sense
But my garden grows inward.

I stared at your picture.
Your eyes pierced me,
Like knives of ice,
And I die a little more.
They catch in my throat
And it hurts so much,
All the emotions feel
Like swallowing razors.
I feel the warm trickle,
Taste the bitter iron of regret.
And I die a little more.

3:00 A.M.
Smoke escapes my lips as I ponder existence.
Death.
Darkness.
Depression.
All just words that burn like this bowl.
And at the end
We all end up in smoke.

Do you remember when you were young?
You more than likely had a favorite toy, right?
Inseparable, you two were?
You may or may not have had other toys too.
Maybe you liked some of those a lot too?
Even to the point of dropping your old favorite for a new one?
Well, that original favorite toy broke when you dropped it.
It has a permanent crack, forever marking your territory.
You may not have intended to do that, but it happened.
There isn't any way to fix that.
But the least you could do is explain why to me.

I hate those silly noises you made.
I hate that your mother passed.
I hate the way your face still permeates my dreams.
I hate that stupid side-*****.
I hate that we were best friends.
I hate every time we talked.
I hate that I fell for you.
I hate that we became a couple.
I hate every lie you told me.
But most importantly
I hate me
For not being able to hate you

Thine leaves art wilted, flying to and fro,
And thy limbs reach out as if in sorrow.
"Dost thou not remember what once was held?”
Thy branches crack whilst leaves into dance meld.
The moon doth rise as children’s laughter rings.
Through the night thy old hollow solemnly sings
Of twisted grins and melancholy wolf cries,
And how every man thee meet sadly dies.
But thy eternal heartbreak shall not wane
Thy every breath will be met with pure pain;
Death shall not return thee to its icy grip.
Forevermore, thou shalt bring people to Death.
Until the rope that hangs on thine branch cease,
Cursed to be known only as The Hanging Tree.

So what if you have a big belly?
So what if you have a pretty face?
So what if you wear a little makeup,
Or if you have a tiny waist?

So what if you don't have ***,
Or if you keep 'em coming back for more?
So what if you got that operation
And renamed yourself Titti Galore?

So what if your complexion is darker,
Or if your skin is pale and white?
So what if your name is Muhammad?
Or Sharkeisha, Wu, or Dwight?

So what if they say that you're different?
Normality is subjective.
And if they want to attack you,
Curse words make very fine adjectives.