I am but a small flower,
Waiting to be noticed and seen,
Longing and yearning by the hour,
Like everyone else in this place of green.

I am but a Forget-Me-Not,
Please give me lots of love and affection,
Because that is what I require a lot,
For I cannot take rejection and neglection.

I am but a Bleeding Heart,
Care for me and I will bloom only for you,
But if you have enough of me and depart,
I shall wilt and become one with the morning dew.

The world has been infected,
and we are all to blame,
our silence a condition,
obedience our shame.

Our species is a parasite,
a plague upon these lands,
our greed and our ambition,
like blood upon our hands.

When all of this is over,
if we run out of time,
the future will not wait for us,
the past will be our crime.

The world is now neglected,
and we must face the flame,
inaction is our legacy,
complacency our game.

There has to be a reckoning,
there needs to be a change,
a time for something different,
the chance to rearrange.

If life is meant for all of us,
if hope still has a chance,
we have to break the pattern,
and learn a different dance.

The world can be corrected,
despite what some may claim,
we have to take this moment,
and never be the same.

we were in love
so deep in it
we fell
without rising

but then i deviated;
i broke you with my fingertips.

if only i had known that it was all my fault,
if only i had seen how hurt you were,
if only i had noticed you beneath those stars, aching for me,

i would love you even more.
           but it's fine now.
you have moved on and is transcending into something new.

if only i could do the same too.

Fragile creature
Deeply steeped in bags
Of bold red and blue
Black, from lack of sleep
And painful, from want of hope

With cups that help me hear
And lines that make me smile
Social being socializes
And dying beings help the night sparkle.

While I tone, phone
Bring my lofty thoughts
Or else hatred
May be my *****

What can I say,
To rocks picked up by you
Can't I be collected, listened to
Hoped for like those others?

I hope so, I elope for that idea
And I cope, grow forth
Bashful plants turned brash
And flowering with colours not yet seen

Not yet considered by rocks or man

I am a petal.

Sometimes
She felt his skull could crack under the passion in her fingertips 
And wouldn't that be beautiful
To end here, in the immediacy of desire
And wouldn't that be kinder?
Than the drawing out of this pain of inevitability 
The guttural ache
Before the final crack
The splintering, not of bone
But of two hearts 
Prised apart by the fingernails of realisation 
That their shattered fragments can never make each other whole.