Goodbye is just a word. An empty promise? You tell me.
Goodbye looks so romantic in the movies. And so **** when it finds you.
It doesn't sound like a song. Doesn't taste like anything but ashes. It doesn't look better dressed in greys or rainbows.
Goodbye is as empty as it is full of emotion. You tempt it every day. We say it too often. Not enough when it counts for those who want it. A small token of comfort for those who deserve it.
Your technicolor emotions turn into watered down versions when the alcohol seeps into your veins. Creating watercolor paint. And with that, you craft me images of a world unframed. Sculpting from words you found on the floor.
Perspective lost to the consumption of liquid courage. Making way for actions unrestrained. A little too much. A little too lost. A little too loosely letting your tongue take charge. Amplified by longing. Tainted by the ever-growing ghost of tomorrow.
You will not remember in the morning. The art you drew in lazy circles around my weary body. The daunting fables you wrote me into. Left to be simple fever dreams to reminisce over.
On days like this, I just feel heavy. Does the earth walk on me or do I wonder her grounds?
On days like this, I don't know if my anxiety is real or I use it to dismiss myself. Maybe deep down I am just sad, lost and different shades of black and sunken soil.
On days like this, everything weighs heavy and the sky presses down on me. Whispers in my ear; this is all you deserve.
I know the heavens cry for me. Hoping to wash me away but I am defiant. So I decide to stay.
On days like this, I think my anxious mind bleeds together with a broken heart. They form something new and dangerous altogether. Leaving me in shambles on the floor.
On days like this, there is no use in trying. It surely won't matter. I am just a mistake. I wallow and swallow. Maybe tomorrow I can befriend my wondering thoughts instead of letting them break me apart.
Shall we from now on only express ourselves in flowers?
Show up blooming colors that speak volumes more than words ever could. On my off days, I'll leave you a single Azalea in mourning, so you understand I am doing this for me. When my season does come, I will string together a crown of Dandelions. To symbolize what it is I feel when I lay down next to you. Can I have this dance? Through endless fields of Daffodils until we wilt down for the night. I will plant a forest full of Tiger Lillie's. Burning like a sunset on fire. I can't help but read Tulips in your eyes, blue as the bright morning sky. Feed me water and sunshine so my garden may grow to spread love and joy. Paint my body the beauty of a dozen Red Roses. Truly, that is what you do to me. Zinnias grow in circles around us every time you smile, pure and white. Painting the world in hues newly discovered.
But I won't keep you captured. Standing in a vase, center on my kitchen table. I will set you free. Gift your sweet, honey-like kisses to the bees. They need you more than I do. And in our final goodbye, I will sing to you. Whisper of Sweet Peas as I transform into a Primrose. After I will wander off and get lost amongst a sea of Poppies. I hope you will carry a pink Carnation with you as not to forget me. One day I will tell them about us through bouquets of Gardenias. They will last forever, these moments. Like petals pressed between the pages of our story. Here we shall live forever, together at last. Buried in the grounds of our secret garden.
I used the following website if you want to understand the extra layer please read this :) https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/publications/flowers/flowers.html
He sees himself a God and we? All monsters. Pride made it all his own even if he never lifted a finger. He deems himself incapable of sin. Even if storm clouds form and rain drown all, it was never his doing. He went to collect prayers. He never did any wrong. Perfection differs from his reflection. The mirror may crack if he were to ever take off his mask. He would rather break angels than leave the world naked and vulnerable to see right through his tapestry of deceit. Transparent as it may be. He was born a man of Gods and Monsters. He the only one never in the wrong. Conversation is him shouting your name and flaws until you crumble to porcelain shambles. Echoes of bones breaking like acknowledgment he does well. Preferably right in front of his feet so he may clean his consciousness after pleading emotionless sorrow.
One less monster to concur.
I always trust the wrong person
With remnants of my heart
Giving away parts of me
They think they want
But reality is messy
Fantasies write better on paper
And fights are only romantic in movies
I am an **** crier
A malicious fighter
An incredibly complicated version of normal
I whisper to myself to make me feel special
Life is nothing like they will tell you
Because it's incomparable to anyone else's
I don't know where I belong
I have seen many a place
But home is a concept to me, estranged
I am young but sometimes the world
Makes me feel so old, soul heavy
I wish I knew
How to turn anxious thoughts into
Precious gold for I would surely
Be the richest of them all
Melochany moods sipping ice coffee
In my underwear tapping along
To my favorite album
I find solitude in music
I find peace in unexpected places
But stray from comfort found in strangers
Help me, is all I know to ask
But when offered I refuse
I am the biggst burden of all, to myself
It still scares me. The thought of being laid down by loving hands, gazing up at kind and gentle eyes. To feel safe in the arms of a long-ago stranger with a heartbeat now familiar as my own. I am mortified to undress and not hide the skin I was told would never be good enough. To not fear for these marks to make you uncomfortable. I am sorry if I may not be what you wished for me to be. It still scares me to trust the words of ones I love. They would never mean any harm, but humans are faulted. Flawed at heart. There simply is nothing to be said for the wounds healed over by salted tears. So I stray from your line of sight. Believe me, this is for your own good. Veer from the possibilities of infinite. This ache is no more than a temporary glimmer of what used to be called hope. An abandoned carnival, full of stories and ghosts hoping to find belonging. I am always taunted by the dark. Even if I still may call it home. Won't you come in? My doors are wide open. I can promise you sight and glory. I can promise forever and mean it too, but beware my empty promises. A beautiful painting. Won't you come and see my mismatch of watered down colors? Only those daring have seen my oceanic storms. The blues and black's that stand stark and lonely like wrote war-zones in my soul. Please come closer. It still scares me, but won't you? Come, won't you play haunted house with me?