Breathless fragrances,
              aromas fading
beyond there time running out.

                             But we will always
expel the vapours of our emotions.
        And others will exhale upon our fading.

Just because you cant taste every
                   sentiment that's breathed,
       were all moving away, just moments fading.

I lost myself in you.

I tried my best to be the best, for you.

I felt a loneliness each day as I'd wait for you to say hi, until I met the ones that helped my eyes to not cry.

I slowly overcame that rope that so tightly kept me attached to my bed, to dwell in the sadness I felt. The sadness you helped to grow.

I realized that I didn't have to be the version of me that worked with you the most. I could be the best version of me for myself, and not anyone else.

That was the moment I knew we didn't fit. It was all an illusion I had created in my head. So I wished you the best, and we said goodbye, and now to you I'll be remembered as "girl number five."

If girl number five could give you any kind of advice, she would tell you to get over all five of the girls you've had in your life before looking for number six. Maybe if you do that, six will be the one that fits with you.

Without a hand to wield it,
              creation is just a silent voice
never written down.

For without man, the words aren't understood.
                  So if the pen came first,
how could man write life down,
                         as he was after its creation.

Imaginings influenced
       by cords of a harmony
we hang our emotions over.

Symbolism of ever melody
           breaths on our reflections
of the days musing

I watered her gardens
       but a flower never blossomed
       only dead seeds
wilt within this patch.

Her tears fell like rain,
        hoping that realising
her worries would cling
           to a moment never changing.

I watered her gardens
       but a flower never blossomed
       only dead seeds
wilt within this patch.

She wished me to tend to her
                  garden but in the
end I couldn't bring life to
                          with barren seeds.

I watered her gardens
       but a flower never blossomed
       only dead seeds
wilt within this patch.

For it wasn't her garden, for
seasons bled and past.
           But it was me, the Gardner
My seeds were never buried deep enough.

you said, "cry me a river".
and so i did.
but then you complained because you didn't have a boat.

i kept knocking on wood, too bad it was laminate.

Flies crept on cremated wounds
                       that had healed untidy..
stitches were never removed
they just descended within
                               suffocating the scars..

Scratching at there depth
within.
              The conciseness
       that caused the cuts to linger.
But still they bled internally.

Your scheming of false fears
            will be actioned upon...
Your just a canary in a coal mine,
        not realizing your already dead.
suffocated within a dark place..

I'm never going to heal,
           but I'm never going to
suffocate on my ego.
         Yours will just sing
till no one listens, sing silently little bird.

For so long I was blinded,
but now I see clearly.
You blamed me,
you can never be at fault.
Maybe twice you gave in
but the rest was barren.

In the beginning it was obvious,
I was struck with a new kind of substance.
but mixed in with the distance, lies and resistance.
It felt like for so long, I was inexistent.

I tried so hard,
but I was never your lifeguard.
I was just a distraction,
and I'm sure, soon enough you'll be on to the next one.

I'll never be  alone as long as you
keep the darkness away from the
streets of my heart. I was sullen in
the home of my feelings.

But you lit every moment towards me,
letting me venture beyond my own confides,
and I walked beyond myself  and then I
found you lighting me further on.

I look at every street light as its
fuelled by the essence of your rhythm,
my was heart secluded till you lit me
beyond me reach and I followed you.

And now I dance on every street lamp,
feeling the luminosity, and I know I'm
safe following  every burnished shade.
my every avenue towards my love.

the winter's sky
a clear red
tightens around my frozen heart.

the fading constellations revive
sweet memories, which i should have lost

My morals do not abstain
             from false figurines
of ill-gotten morals.
Mine are birthed from my humanity,  
         and the throws of my
mothers kindness.
She who showed me that my humanity
is what I should
                   follow as a path of
kindness & respect and fortitude...
I follow no false reflection that are
        never shown on the reflections
of my thinking.
            We are each a vessel of conscious
memory and we need to follow our own
               path that swings between
the morals of what are perceived as
                                                       good
                                                            ­&
                                                           bad...
But it the nature of our humanity to
thread our lives on our deeds or misdeeds..
We are the vehicle of our own ending..
Do we swim or sink in our decisions...