The blossom floats to the ground
It hits so violently all of hell shakes
Heaven gazes wordlessly from above,
Watching our actions, judging us.
One eye follows our every move,
Waiting for failure; maybe I'll never graduate
Let's wander past old brick buildings

You gave me silken scarves and solitude
To weave my own bindings
You gave me surpluses of satin
Bandages for skin you broke
You gave me Swarovski accessories
As if it excused your absences
You gave me smooth apologies
A salve to my twisted fingers

Gods, I’ve been forsaken!
I – formerly blessed by the sun –
Cry out to you, you who leave
My words unheard.
Once a daughter to kings, I wait
Inside an indiscernible prison
For the fall of my beloved city.
I predicted this, my people, but
I cannot blame you, my people
I spurned the sun, burned my fate
And now no one will heed me.
They tell me I am
beautiful, I am brilliant, I am
insane.
They tell me
To leave the future to kings.
I spoke to you, my people
The contents of the horse
I spoke to you, my people
When we shall catch our demise
With axe and fire, I rush,
Only to face the barrage of disbelief
I hear them laughing, my people
Those who will carve their place
Where you once stood
But you will not listen.

She sways in time
To the beat in her brain
Rejecting the irregular tempo of her heart
Blinking twice to clear the glare
She stumbles once, again, and again
Reaching for someone
Who isn't there.
She wants
To forget for the night, blur into the lights
Drowning herself to blissful heights

Hang a star on the ceiling, my love
To protect you during the daylight
Whenever the sky closes its eyes
It’s not perfect, I understand
But darling, nothing ever is
Hold onto what you can

Starts with a burst of pure light
Flares up and away like a laugh
Coalesce into one, a sphere perfectly rounded
Essence of one captured in crystal form
I watch mine flicker, a candle in an open window
Darker like the clouds hiding the sun
Pray to the world I’ll flare up again or
I’ll slowly be consumed by my sins

Skinny, papery, wrinkled, and pale
Running a rosary through her fingers
The air shimmers, balmy ocean waves that never cease
From the shaded marble step, I ask:
“Why do you suffer rituals out in the scorching sun?”
“My child, that’s how it’s always been done.”