the frailty
of that simple stem arising
with all the glory beauty

with such a fragile base
out of the bare earth
holding high to the light

her own telling her rendition
of simple splendor
on a thin stem

roses are red but
romance is dead, so what use
is counting petals?

When you exist to not exist
When the colors of your hair are bathed in the deepest green of absynthe
When it's quiet but never been so excruciatingly pervasive
Where can I find my peace
Are we in balance or just in limbo?

There is
an abundance
of beautiful people,
for beauty
should be
in your mind.

We are empty whiskey bottles
Apologizing for always helping the helpless
Damning the ******
Liquifying any motivation
To make things better
Pouring ourselves out
To soak in sorrows
Begging and wishing
Someone would pour us back