they are beautiful nectar collectors,
they're busily pollinating,
viciously cooperating,
and skillfully propagating from petal to petal.
as they flitter and hover,
acting as ambrosia vessels.
from marigolds to foxgloves,
and even to blooming nettles.

i find myself content within torment,
i feel bright when i'm blue.
i'm not broken, just bent,
and without wanting to,
that's something i resent.

flip the script,
try again.
don't condemn.
try your best to make amends.

"I'll tell you a secret if you tell me three."
She was lying, of course,
she'd spill the beans.

smile at me, please, say cheese,
with stained teeth made from weathered piano keys.

frame the picture with duct tape and cardboard,
an ode to what our love could once afford.

snap back at me, guide me to terminal three,
say goodbye, freeze time and beg of me to leave.

smashed chances, we burnt our last connection to ashes.
now flashbacks to past plastic passion is like paying back taxes.

bury myself under the world
hope to death i never meet god
suffocate my brain
stuff it full of pills and shame
to mitigate the pain
hope to high godless heaven
that i can convince myself to go sane

he's human.
he's not sane or emotionless.
he's stupid,
and his jokes are hit or miss.
he used to be foolish,
but then he finally found a friend.
she wasn't poetic or aware,
and she smelled of fake confidence.
they mostly got along,
even after bad arguments.
but she was still foolish.,
and thought she could outrun the truth.
and if it wasn't for his truthfulness,
they might've even fallen in love.
but that story is just an overdue eulogy,
of all things that could,
but shouldn't be.