I live in a garden, among a thousand blooming things
a sickly sweet saturation of color
my conservatory, scented of blood and
buttercream frosting.
There are lilacs, dahlias, daisies
rolling fields of white clover flowers,
bushes of honeysuckle,
and fences of heavy wisteria.
The trembling of a lonesome violin
floats in the background
each crooning pitch melting away into
masterful vibrato.
Briefly I am reminded of you,
by the sound of the distant violin,
but the smell of the salty, sticky air
and the tragic lament of each gentle arpeggio
reminds me why I ran away
in the first place.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 1:54 PM UTC
sterile scented skin
soft but not subtle
to be pale, like bleach white hospital walls.
paper thin, self indulged
pulse running icy
fingertips stinging cold.
you smell like an operating room
and feel like the cold light after.
now scarlet deep
your pristine tundra, flowing
broken in one hundred gentle criss-cross lines
you are desecrated
stained in alizarin red
unworthy.
Dec 19, 2019
Dec 19, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC