your hand sifted through the typed pages
as if you were discovering
each word
for the first time.
ink poured from our mouths
as we whispered haikus
into the depths of novels and scripts.
you unraveled the cursive in my hair
and wove your accents and characters in instead.
fill in the spaces in my book that are left unwritten
with every idea,
every thought
that fills your head,
and i'll turn them into something beautiful.

the lilacs dripping from your lips kiss the sky and make the clouds sway under your spell. your laugh creates a kingdom of liliums and lavandulas. the world turns and the sun shines, all for you. but suddenly you remember.

you remember things you promised yourself you wouldn't.

the lilacs are replaced by wilting roses with thriving thorns. they puncture the sky as the clouds unite to protect the heaven you're trying to destroy.

and your garden becomes an abyss. i'm not sure how far down it goes (maybe six feet deep) but somewhere in the depths of your despair lies your innocence.

you had stuffed your mouth with stained glass
in hopes that they would block out
the dull and muted words you spoke
(and replace them with colorful vocabulary),
but stained glass isn't opaque.

the girl with the blue heart
waits by the bus stop
hoping someone would come and take her away.
a tumor had formed in her chest
from when she got drunk on stolen love.
she reeked of liquor, anxiety, desuetude,
and the fear that she may never be loved.

the girl with the blue heart
wasn't always like this;
her heart was once golden
with forest green streams running through her veins.
geraniums and chrysanthemums adorned her face
and kissed her lips like milk and honey.

now the girl with the blue heart
speaks with a mouth full of cobwebs
and the never-ending desire
to crawl six feet deep into the ground.
her caesious fingertips
chased maladies down the boulevard
until she reached dead ends.

the girl with the blue heart
craves nothing more than nepenthe,
melatonin,
and a place to call home.