your heart
breaks different
when it beats
alone

perhaps the most complex feeling
is feeling everything at once
the sympathy of a lover
the cold from a friend
everything shattering at once
residue of a rainfall

pain flares
and the cold blooms
the heat of freezing
the coldness of mistakes
everything finally stood still
residue of a rainfall

the soft pitter patter pulling me through the night

I cough words
onto a page,
and hold it up to the world.
They call it art, they call it poetry.

there are roses growing
from my hands
My doubt the seeds
Begging them to grow

There are roses climbing
up my arms
digging in my skin
but i am numb
to their thorns and beauty

There are roses growing
in my lungs
bloodied petals
filling my throat
and falling from my lips

Tears are sliding
down my cheeks
I've had enough
I am to weak