i’ve wilted in a void of fraught silences,
and danced amidst dark woods
and starving wolves.

but what a viridian gleam:

there are shadows that mingle through your windows,
and the glass,
just like your own temperament.

even the roses in your hair have their thorns,
but believe in the cracks in my voice when I say:

the darkest parts of the ocean,
will always be the prettiest.