there's this moment after happiness has settled into every crevice of your body where panic sets in because

everything must fall eventually.

somewhat like a condemned house. once, it contained love and family and happiness. there's that word again.

eventually, everything settles.
everything unsettles.
happiness is fleeting -
and so, too, is sadness.

but at least, in despair,
there's is only better to come.
happiness is not so kind.

sometimes the broken pieces don’t fit,
they don’t go back together
like perfect puzzles made of glass.

sometimes you try to put the
pieces back together, and you come
away with ****** fingers

and jars full of jagged edges
and missing shards,
nothing like the pieces of art they once were.

Sext: she said an ****** like/her soul being ****** /a gaping hole : /like ...more

Every poem I wrote,
I wrote for you;
To try and erase
The wounds you left.

Today
I am writing for me,
Because I have realized
That these wounds will never
Disappear.

They will stay.

They will scar.

And they will be beautiful.

They will be gashes
In my flower petal skin
Sealed with gold,
Lacing me back together.

They will spill sunlight
And music
And all the venom
That you have filled me with
Will dissolve.

I will be new.

I will be fresh.

I will grow new
Flower petal skin.

There is no more whiskey
Left in my blood;
There is no more reason
To beg you to come home.

I am not a child,
I am
A woman king;

A flower who has been
Whiskey dipped.

And, regardless,
I have bloomed.

A crowd has gathered
in the home
of the unknown poet

a house of smoke
he calls it, but the poet
left for another affair

his gallant wife
descends the stairs
and shows no misery

while the guests read
his work sniffing
over their peer glasses

and with no regrets
whatsoever the poet's wife
drives a dagger deep
in her pale breast

as the poet is laughing
and dancing with ******
the guests at the table
place their orders.