In the wide field
he picked me
and I was freed
I was a pretty flower
The only problem is that
I easily wither
Who will love me
when I am no longer
appealing and pretty
I am going to wither
And die in winter

there are roses growing
from my hands
My doubt the seeds
Begging them to grow

There are roses climbing
up my arms
digging in my skin
but i am numb
to their thorns and beauty

There are roses growing
in my lungs
bloodied petals
filling my throat
and falling from my lips

Tears are sliding
down my cheeks
I've had enough
I am to weak

There is always a moment
when I wish I didn’t feel
like prey at the bottom
Of the ocean.

Did I teach myself to breathe
underwater, sinking and never
Coming up for air,
watching the surface
Grow darker and darker—
cold satin on my skin,
A thin film over gills,
Knowing I would never
kick my legs, flail my arms
Was it I,
who put myself here?

I wish you didn't live within me,
Filthy love,
Transparent gaze,
Spread your arrogant tail,
And then cower in shame before mine!

You are no better than I thought,
But worse than I'd have myself believe,
But imperfections are your strength,
And charm seeps from sadness,
Feeding my sickness,
Yet I'm confident the words that slip over your lips,
Are a mystical cure-all elixir.

Arrogance begets greed,
And greed bleeds humility from the veins,
Popping up like maggots underneath the skin.
I watch goodness writhe and wail,
While evil,
Beautiful evil,
Mends the wounds left behind.

You lap up the purity that pools beneath my feet,
And lean up to tear the scabs-
Of course,
You are not my Eurydice,
But simply gluttony.
It's obsession and impatience,
That manifested the you that lays contentedly in my arms.

i believe,
even the stars
get tired.

when the night sky
had folded them away
back into the darkness

and the moon,
that lonesome thing,
has doused itself in shadows.

so will you too, my friend
shy away from the light
as if it would burn
if it reached you.

maybe you feel,
you just are not strong enough
to face the day.

that the midnight hour
is a broken thing

and oh, the silence
is deafening.

and you and i know, even the stars
are tired.

you mourn for them
as their light expires.

He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.