oh, it could be such a lovely distraction.
cavalier bandaging binding unclean wounds
pain? your tragic torment, worsening beneath
faux perfection. the sternest ivy inclines
tangling, reaching for golden lifelines.
a strange comfortable fog mist muffling
echoes drowning pathways. you were always
a fog, a deep hungry cloud
i didn't realize

the hardest part was starving it
every ideal like springtide flowerets
you turned to archaic grisly gravel
watch them crash through
weathered rooftops
watch them fall

drawing maps with hungry voices
winding staircase. hidden street.
drained from stepping on recurrent
cryptic papers scattered floorboards
no matter how many times they're
cleaned, there they are

bright coral turns vile muddy brown
when it stays in the sun too long
alone, everybody knows that
that's what they thought
beneath a brittle beacon, cloudy day
they'll keep pretending, it'll be okay

there’s a certain kind of silence there, so
rich it fills your lungs with honeysuckle roots.
restorative ones, like sweet memories flowing
from this hope-filled golden-rimmed book.
hands surrounding notes from the frame
of grand pianos voicing songs it sings like
soft whispers across marble halls telling
trial and triumph to stillness.
only, I can’t find the way myself, here in this
place He takes my hand, only He can show me in.

forever to be
the sweetest part of all.

she tilts her head to the sound of closed windows nestled between cherry paints blossoming over walls like twine packaging waiting to burst open with life.
the same whisper seeping through gaudy cracks beneath the door seeps over into veins pulsing towards her heart. cherry reds, cherry red.
she picks at colored flowers with her mind until they shrivel dry broken browns quickly shoving them between book pages to make them last a bit longer.
and with eyes tracing outlines of the sky she tries to numb her thoughts to those whispers that swallow her whole with the night, wallowing and swallowing, until she feels the presence of every last shriveled petal she's ever known.

these days are whispers hidden with melodies of scholar hearts beating faster with every footstep on the side of the mountains, going up and down across the windswept earth. up and down.
everyone's reaching for memories and happiness scattered across the pages of lights shining through the fog from distant towers that might not even exist.
"don't you quit, don't you dare quit," she told me with anger in her eyes a desperation in her voice (how little she knows of my rebellious heart) I sunk deeper inside to a hollow pit of murky waters same as yesterday.
it seems I'm losing myself to a fear of falling to the hard surface of peoples' thoughts and I've been told it isn't right
here in the cupboard I've a basket of flowers no one knows about growing heavier with an aching need for another home and here I am again, perpetually stuck at crossroads not knowing who to give them to.

her words formed colored dust on
butterfly wings collecting photographs
of green ivy hearts in the wildwood,
delicate valley flowers circling
her hair like verses of hope dappled
yellows, forest greens, daydreams and cream
she found a path in the forest balancing
on the breath of nature silver rings
like lace intertwined with reflections of
grace her own cordial way of handing
out smiles with every hello, slight twirl of
her skirt, I walk past shelves of stories golden
binding each classic manuscript echoing
her name we float down vintage corridors
like rivers dancing to the tune of a fiddle
breathing in deep breaths of autumn
winds beneath the willow canopy sky she found
a path in the forest and the reason to fly.