Wilted roses bleeding petals
from a cracked forgotten vase,
becoming stinging nettles
that weep from open scars.

You wish to learn my face,
to grasp the essence of my chaos.
Do not try to understand how i think,
for i myself can not comprehend.
Like a unicorn on rollerblades,
you can only stand, awe-struck.

If an easy rain
would make the rocks slippery,
he would hold my hand.

This is a lonely poem,
a half an hour before dawn poem,
a poem like an empty kitchen –
a godforsaken (god, I'm shaking)
feeling like I just want to go home
poem. (and I am home)

Catching my reflection in the mirror, I noticed that I look beautiful today.
I look like still sadness, or slight grief, or a breeze through eucalyptus trees.
I smell like the sea.

I feel like a storm, or like the shore freshly pummeled by waves.

My skin is peaches. My skin is rain. My eyes are rain.

I want it to rain so that I can cry and belong. The sadness never stops with talking.
I'm talking all the time now
tying myself into knots and hanging my brain to dry when the clouds die

I'd like to slap you.
If only anger could boil over and burn our eyes and make us all forget
I would callous over my burns and it wouldn't matter anymore
Layers of burnt skin



I'm like an orange, I think. I'm easy to peel
and easy to eat away piece by piece

Its subtle green eye speaks words of death.
I'm not sure of It's shallow screams.
Will it **** me, or give second breath.
Its horrors seems to be of dreams,
however it is my sacrificial lamb,
it is my early morning hero