A collection of words dancing upon the blank canvas of my screen. Mocking me, they sit unaudited, unfiltered, nonsensical strings of words that fit so beautifully, so tempestuous, they sit together.
You’re like a sad song in the middle of the happiest playlist, I could have made, the tunes they blend into a symphony Of sweet Nostalgia, until your song plays jarringly. A song that has rendered me to the will Of a poet’s apex, for the words they bleed when one’s soul wilts.
I’ve never received a flower Or even a rose But I’m a guy So it’s acceptable I suppose No kisses Or sweets No treats That signifies ones feelings for me No token of ones love But I have gotten Disappointment Watered with hate Planted in betrayal Fertilized with lies And maintained by fakes Roses are Red But my roses are dead And crumble beneath my feet