The anger festers, bubbles and boils within
The steam rises off my skin
And I feel explosive
Why is it
Men always get the last word?
They pressure,
They guilt,
They can be so persuasive—
But the moment you show any sign
Of rage
You are suddenly the problematic answer
To all the questions never asked

Old sanctuaries made of roses
Bright red, in full bloom
With petals unwavering and bright
All eventually sprout thorns
Growing briars so thick,
So sharp and strong–
That your hands can no longer
Push through to peace
And eventually old safe havens
Become just that
Something settled in dust
Letting rust and shade
Cover all the shimmer and shine
And you are cast from sanctuary

No longer fit to grow among roses

Wine tastes like I miss you
And whiskey tastes like I need you
The bottom of these bottles make me ache
Maybe if I drink my fill
The thought of you no longer will

Even if I drown it all away
You'll still haunt me all the same
No matter how deep I drown,
In the haze you're always around
A silhouette in the silence
A ghost that's louder than the quiet

Maybe time will heal what's broken
If not through words then through the unspoken
We'll turn the ashes into flame
And maybe we'll find love through the shame

we could have been beautiful
like a sunrise shining
in the dew of a
morning flower in bloom
but something inside of me
was withered and ungrowing
sunflowers are said to bloom
and move towards sunlight
but I think I must be
something more macabre
i'm the tears on a
mourning rose on a coffin
after all, flowers don't grow
once they've been severed

and you deserve sunflowers

Memories bury themselves in my heart
A graveyard of all my sorrows and mistakes
I leave flowers on all the tombstones
If you read the names, you can relive the rush
Catching glimpses of shadows from the past

The flowers always wither, crumble and rot
But I believe there's magic in the remains
If you hold the petals they bring you back
You grasp the thorns and they take you away
Either way, there's beauty in both their pain

I wonder if you see my sorrow
And sunbathe in it
Do you feel more radiant
In the glow of my woe?

I bet it looks pretty on you,
The karma I bleed

Writing has always been my favorite hobby
I feel so much more through ink and paper
Than I do in my skin and soul