rather than the pretty rose,
that was showered with
praise and poise
and sunshine smiles,
the mimosa plant always was
pricked by the curious calico cat,
curling into itself
and if i were to do the same,
would i disappear too?

the sun rose in the east,
only cries and wails
in white hoarded rooms,
where a new day starts,
and endings birthed,
and where the sun
sets in the west,
waiting for a better
tomorrow.

the white hospital room,
laid a ******* her bed
bruises, scars, scratches,
with lines and crosses
dancing across her skin
dried tears and
freckles dusted lightly
amongst her temples.
with wires wrapped
around her body,
he holds her hands,
afraid of letting her
go.

i hear sobs through the paper thin walls,
i feel the grief swimming
in my veins,
the lit cigarette filled
with nicotine and
chemicals, i inhale.
filthy tobacco
smoke clouds my mind,
blocking the colours
of violet of these bruises,
i exhale.
i look out the opened window, seeing a horizon
of stars and constellations,
constantly battling.
the moon, shining oh
so bright;
i stare at it, with
wisps of sadness
and despair
hoping someone,
somewhere,
will look back.