Soon, I know
you’ll want to go.
I cross my fingers
For time to slow.
But when you’re done
With your goodbyes,
I hope you think of me:
the mayfly flower who was
destined to die.

I dreamt of you the other day
I woke up with your scent lingering in the linens, where I laid
And my chest broke all over again, as it does
You could never love me again, love.
My weary heart has since used my body weary too,
And I am briars of what used to be a garden, owned only by you

Before,
I did not know what it was to be weary.
I felt the distress of a flower in bloom.
And somehow,
I was flower that knew
I was doomed to die.
And stricken with such a weight,
I compressed myself behind a pane of glass,
And became brittle as I prolonged the death of my purity.
Flat, dry, and faded, but I still hold my shape,
Under the pressure of the glass pane.

Shaky hands.
Heart tumbling down to my stomach,
Stop, please, stop
Look at my bleeding gaze,
painfully saturated eyes
my burning tears should burn you now,
Your hands melted and gripped my hair
like concrete wax
you were the wick and I,
I am the charred, melted remains
It shouldn't have hurt so much to love,
but it did,
Oh
It did.

The acuteness of the first fall is directly related to the acuteness of the pain,
And you are the sharpest thing I’ve ever felt.

First love,
And quite possibly,
The only one I’ll ever let myself know.

I give you all of my heart,
all of my self,
all of my soul.
A dangerous thing to do,
but so dangerously I love you.