A litter of potpourri petals scatted along my 10:00am floor. They lost their vibrancy and sense of worth almost as fast as i did.
Yet every now and then a new bud will bloom, crisp and curled edges followed by a  
bright and deeply coloured centre. This beauty surrounded by a dark dirt wouldn't be
complete without a tiny bug or two, and those minuscule pests are somehow my
favourite feature.
Or was it her?
Blonde with a bad haircut she can't quite grow out, yet she is  
still always progressing. I only wish to shower her in nosegay and tell her all will be okay.
Though she will never believe me, not until she allows a certain someone a seat at the table and
confronts them for what they are. She will glare with glowing eyes and ask every
question that deserves to be answered.
She can't yet say goodbye. But one day she will.

I thought i felt a shadow looming over me, it turned out only to be the edge of a ripped frame. But not only, for an edge is still an edge and it's getting scarier what these kids are starting to say about it. Closer they go and I'm trying my best to keep sitting in the centre but still i call out to them and I understand there is an unanswered question there yet it won't work because they got bugs in there minds that whisper stuff when they sleep at night and the things i try to scream don't matter. At least i can say I tried?
They're dead inside.

How much longer will my stairs be able to hide my problems?
Up, up, up, they go! Face? Are you still hanging on, even by only a last mascaraed lash? Say what you want, but spiders are in.. At least that's what the street kids and i
philosophise. It's time for the cob webs to do their dance, there is no meaning.
I only have minutes left, 3:48 to be exact.

It's me or the monster, who makes the first move.
I must tame this unruly beast, this winter coat.
Yet with a blade this rusty, the supermarket will be out of band aids by the time i'm
through with this pale, pudgy, political mess.
The now *****, steamed pools of chemical filled culture, swirling down my drain,
trapped on dry edges. I watch in utter disgust as a shade of ruby follows, descending to
the pits of anti-feminist hell.

Shaving's a *****!