You've made tulips grow under my bed
And in my head,
Where monsters used to hide.
You made roses grow in my broken heart
And violets in the bags under my eyes.
My tongue is now a bed of roses
Where your tongue longs to lie.
You've made flowers grow,
My dear,
In the darkest parts of my mind.

they asked
“do you miss him”
and I thought no
i don’t miss him

but i miss the
feel of his skin
on mine and his
hands tracing

each and every inch
of me, burning the
memory of him
into my mind

and the way his
eyes would light up
whenever he saw me
and the way

he’d kiss me to take
away all the pain inside
so when people do
ask me

“do you miss him”
i think about it
and in the end
i know i’ll never

stop  

             missing

                              him.

S.W

how does a rainbow know what colors he must use
when there are so many  from which he can choose
are these what he likes and dosent want a change
would a change of color make him somewhat strange
maybe thats the way that its meant to be
with the colors  that he has for all the world to see

When senses run together, dull in the rack  
Of night, it’s Chaos who culls true meaning.
He mocks the light of day in paradox  
Sings: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
The ****** end, embodies the souls watery  
Beginning, and so the beating star is all
Intermingled; until flesh and fibers are done,
Thus: ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on.’
Though mighty Jove, who beat the antique world
Down, cast poor Agamemnon his fate, it’s
Helen of Troy whose aisling breaks like doom,  
All from the strain of Leda and the Swan.  
For, ‘we are such stuff as dreams are made on,
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.’

I never saw eyes,
Like hers, now we walk together,
Lake water sparkles.