Beneath the gulmohar tree
In flamboyant love
A tale of our desires
Coloring each other
A bright vermillion
Under his crimson spread
Shaded in blissful haven.

Reaching for his branches
Clasping, holding
Climbing, swinging
Chasing, laughing
Under a bright shower of scarlet petals
Of hearts and heat, of love and life
Blooms of a scorching Indian summer.

In flames, his vibrant burning crown
His canopy, flaunting festive tangerine blossoms
Crinkled teasing petals
One upright
Of quaint innocence in white
Splashed with  feisty passion's red
Celebrating and anticipating
In celebration of us, our love
Anticipating rain..
As his branches reach high for promising dark clouds.

Serenading with the music of the monsoons
Moist leaves of the gulmohar glisten
With wind and water, in gentle rhythm
Raindrops nestle for a moment
Before sliding, slipping
On damp, satiated earth
Strewn bright with scattered orange petals
Of the gulmohar
Drenched and soaked like us.

we can go wherever we want
we can even go to
montana
because we can't live here anymore
all the boys are talking to her,
they're drowning in blue and talking to her
it is hard to understand
in a similar way it is hard to understand
flowers growing,
maybe it is your birthday.
all the boys are talking,
their eyes are closed and they're talking to her
it is hard to hear when i sleep

I wrote about him
over a year ago.
He was one of my
     most inspirational muses
that became one of my
     softest kisses
     purest loves
     sweetest memories.
Which makes it even more painful
to realize that he also became
one of my
        biggest heartbreaks.

Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

let it be because she reminded you of me.
that her blonde hair was cut in a chopped short mess,
just like mine.
and her laugh was a silent, gasping for air, kind of laugh.

that her eyes were green but you imagined they were blue,
that her lips almost tasted like my coconut chapstick,
that if you squinted your eyes hard enough,
she had my freckles.

let it be because she was wearing my favorite perfume,
because she was wearing my favorite color,
or because she was wearing black nail polish
that she had a bad habit of scratching off.

let it be because it was just a kiss,
because it didn't mean anything.
let it be because you were missing me,
and she was the closest thing.
let it be a stupid, heat of the moment, mistake.

let it be because you were drowning in loneliness,
and she was a boat.
or let it be because you couldn't feel me anymore,
and she was just at arms reach.
let it be something you will never do again...

just don't let it be because you don't love me anymore.