With you,
I feel like my brokeness wears a disguised mask,
it doesn’t protrude out like splinters and spears
right through my rib cage where
thorn ladden tendrils grow, with everyone else.

With you,
I feel less broken.
Maybe even whole again.
Like I used to be.

There are parts of me that
lay unrested - they are ghosts
in hallways, they are smoke
suffocating in locked rooms.

Sometimes I can feel
myself fading and it takes
all I have to pull myself
back from the abyss.

I'm walking on ice, yet
to find a stable foothold in
life seems unprecedented.

I still haven't learnt when
my hands began writing
rather than shaking.

She & he & she spoke mellifluously.
Over prolonged seconds of wasted moments,
he planted a daisy in his youthful garden
as each day progressed which marked
a patient reminder of his love for her.
On one dollorous scarified day,
she screamed whispers and banter
and everything gory at the pinnacle of her lungs,
which admonished and ripped every daisy
by the root from his secret garden of adoration.
Of her.
All that was left was nothingness.

She & he & she spoke mellifluously.
She proclaimed her love for him over strained vocal chords.
And the one neglected daisy that was left in the wreckage and toil remained alive.
That's what his love was.
A singular heartbeat that still beat for her,
A ventricle of his heart where
he kept the locket which tell the stories
of their memories together & her.
Alive.

The starry lit clouds
shy and shinny
captured on the
nearby cherry tree branches

reflected your Apollo locks glitter
you pressed me on a barren trunk
your torso became a burning tree
trying to cool in a pond full of lava

Your tongue played rose~***
mary magic ~on white satin hills.
My back hurt a bit, scratched,
the blouse finger blown, open.

And then. . . the real tempo started to begin. . .