The sunflowers I bought you
sat backlit by the window.
Their long stems
reflected into our small kitchen;
Every fallen petal played out
like a slow, sorrowful production
on how beautiful things often die.

I remember that last week and how
we had mapped out routes to avoid each other.
Our bodies that once pointed towards
one another like home,
now recalculated every way to avoid contact.

When our eyes involuntarily did meet
I would quickly begin to count
the dry, mustard yellow
blades on our kitchen table
until you were gone.

Till this day, every time I think of you,
I think of petals, and begin to count
until I can no longer feel the
enormous weight of your absence.

Monday is the go getter, and nobody respects him for that

Tuesday is always on the verge of a nervous breakdown because no one likes her

Wednesday looks up to everybody else, and holds them together

Thursday is the responsible one that makes sure everyone is fed

Friday is never home, and is always drunk with Saturday

Saturday just goes with Friday to make sure he's okay

And Sunday dresses in all black, and then all white, becuase she doesn't know who she is

Standing over the porcelain sink,
I find a girl I don’t recognize anymore
staring back at me.
Her eyes are sunken and lifeless.
Her smile has long faded
and her once lively complexion
pale from the lack of sunlight.
I can’t stand to look at my broken self.
Hope and faith are my most elaborate forms of self harm.
With every new hope, I die a little more inside,
because I know that in the end of it all.
My light for life is slowly dissipating as
I am always being brought back to my best friend,
disappointment.

I swear glitter must run through her veins because every inch of her sparkles.

we swam naked in the sea
for hours
and hours
and later
in the dunes my lips
tricked a sweet pearl
from the singly balanced cradle
deep within those oyster spilt hips
“you taste of samphire”
I gasped
“listen
could you keep a secret
while the ocean foam stings
your throat?”

Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.