I want to catch
and hold fire in my palm.
Burn just to feel alight.
Melt down like wax candles
and be reshaped into
something new.

A purple road
cutting through the greenery
lies before me.
A clear path to something
new and unknown.
Another day.
Another dawn.
Another purple road.

Hear the soft tune,
a long forgotten lullaby,
notes that form fated threads,
tethers us to moth eaten moments.
Remember as you dance,
to a voice filled with memory.

When there is a snake
stuck upon your roses,
hiding under strawberries,
hissing tales of thorns and rot,
cast out the snake
before burning your Eden
to the ground.

"One more minute," you say
as I glance at the clock,
ready to run off to the places
I wish to, but can't avoid.
"One more minute," you say
as you grab my face,
smush my cheeks,
leave behind watermelon kisses.
"One more minute," you say
and every time I give in.
One more minute given,
just one more minute late for you.

My hands used to shake
at the thought of breathing:
the hardest thing at the time.
Living wasn't an option.
Surviving my only goal.

Sing for me,
wether good or bad,
cracked or too high pitched,
through tears or anger,
because I just want
to hear your voice,
in all the ways your voice
can sing or sound.