It's a wreath on her head
and a knot in her heart,
fairy lights falling
and falling apart,
and they flit in her head
with wings of furious petals
and tongues made of lightning,
cursing the chains that link
and clink,
tying them to her mind,
an empty blackened space,
as burnt as her lungs,
as the oxygen burned
and she hung
from those fairy lights.

Heavy down suffocates the air,
a soft snow carpet on the floor,
stark white against stark skin,
heavy echoes of heavy doors.
Death is found in the silence,
death of love, death of heart,
that swollen feeling in the chest,
of being ripped apart.
And of blood dipped feathers,
and blossoming bruises,
lilac and midnight blue fingers,
wrapping her neck like nooses
and-
her heart falling like a feather,
before shattering like glass,
death of trust, of faith above all,
a million apologies won't fix the past.

The cassette tape whirs
over in my head,
remembering,
remembering,
everything I said.
Faded lines harden,
as the black tape grows,
black with bitter resentment,
more than you could know.
The tape catches it all,
those lines of weariness and age.
It was my fault,
I know it is,
replay it stage by stage.

Coffee stains the page,
different marks for different days,
and pages curl at the edges,
from heat, from age.
It's a bitter morning wake up,
when the sun is bright and new,
surrounded by the smell of coffee,
the sounds of typing too.
Or early morning reading,
as the bookworm reads the book,
or the scratch of pen on paper,
the poet in their nook.
Coffee stains their hands,
their page, their veins,
lost in their dream of word and coffee,
the outside world is drowned in rain.

The memories are like
warm gold,
sweet at first but
then heavy and cold.
Picture frames with
shattered glass,
faded pictures
with fingerprints past.
The sun turns paper
yellow with age,
turning photo albums
page by page and
momentum in your heart
stops for a beat,
who knew memories
could taste so bittersweet?

That sun sweet
piece of me,
pressing sugared lips
to the vanity,
heart rhyming love
with melody,
and the flowers blooming
over crystal seas.
That lonely heart
cries to me,
of who it wants,
of what could be,
and the blinded Seer
who prays to leave,
with galaxy eyes
and fervent pleas.