I will probably glorify you until you fizzle and burn out
and then you'll be left looking at your hands
and I'll be wondering why I don't want them on me anymore.
I wonder if my love is like sparklers
whenever I grabbed one and lit it,
I'd be too afraid to hold it until the very end
I'd drop it in the grass instead.
Maybe I don't know how to love without dropping things in the grass
but it doesn't feel like that yet.
I will grab the grass with fists
pour my eyes over with soil if that's what it takes to plant flowers in my vision,
because I deserve to glorify a ******* boy
if i think love is worth catching
before it hits the ground.
Besides, I learned how to light matches
and now I never drop a stupid sparkler

Nima wants out of it,
wants out of all,
the medicated care,
nurses fussing over drugs
or pill popping
or signs she back
on the downward slide again;
she wants Benny to come,
want him to visit
or meet in London
as once they did.

The doctor's just gone,
his dark eyes gazing over her
like a skater on ice,
his dark eyebrows
as caterpillars sleeping.

She wants to walk the ward,
but he's told her
to rest until she’s up
to the walk; ******* talk.

She lays there on the bed,
head on the pillow,
eyes on the lights,
on the nurse who
comes and goes,
thinking of Benny
and that good bit of ***
in the cheap hotel;
the taps in the bathroom
the wrong way around:
hot for cold and vice versa.

She laughs;
she always thinks of that
when she bathes,
that and that time
when they bathed together.

She wants out if it;
wants either a good fix
or a good ****,
but stuck in here
in the ward,
none of that
worse luck.

Heart pounding,
   Through the night
She knows the darkness well
     Been blinded by the light
And dragged through hell

Soul crushing,
   Through the days
She knows the pain never ends
     Been sliced open, fogged and dazed
And the voices in her head,
Have become her only friends

Head throbbing
   Through the dreams
She knows the sound of silence not
     Been left wounded, no one to hear her screams
And tortured by the presence of one single thought

Death knocking
   Through the silence
She knows he'll keep waiting, just like before
     Been failing at keeping up her defence
And this time, she simply opens the **door

Be gone thy one with forked tongue.
Speak only through your toxic pen.
Graffiti wrote in blazing red
Thoughts written in emotive letters.
For all the world to see.
Before your feelings, be declared cold and dead.
(C) LIVVI

The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let the dead things go.