You called on Valentine’s Day,
out for dinner with friends.
Their confused laughter in the background,
a soft ambiant noise of the world around you.

You said, Let’s pretend, just for fun,
that you’re here, sitting right across from me.
So I smiled, and I closed my eyes,
letting your words paint the moment.

I imagined the clink of glasses,
the soft rustling of menus,
I let myself be transported there,
as if this was a reality we could share.

And for a while, I let myself believe
that this was what it could feel like,
if we ever crossed the line between pretend and real,
between the almost and the never.

But as always, the laughter faded and the call ended,
I was left with the ache of what could never be.
Just another moment of ours,
in a world of make-believe.

And so, I sat in the silence
after we hung up, I felt trapped there
still only in the realm of "what if"
where love always lives just out of reach.

You called the night before Valentine's,
a normal call, out of nowhere—like always.
Said, Let’s pretend, just for fun,
that we’re each other’s valentines.

And I played along, like I always do.
Like I haven’t spent years loving you
in the spaces between our calls,
in the silences after we say goodnight.

You told me to pretend you'd sent dark chocolates,
the only kind I'd like, you made sure to ask.
Along with of course, a bouquet of roses—
but curiously you said you’d kept one stem for yourself.

So I’d know that when yours wilted,
it was time to send more, you said.
And for a moment, I let myself believe
that love could be that simple, that beautiful.

But of course, it was only for fun, right?
Just the quiet truth settling in my chest—
that no matter how much love lingers unspoken,
we will always be something imagined,
always a story that never steps past pretend.

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