Time comes in moments, seconds, hours, years.
Drenching, cloaking, soaking in time we let ourselves live.
But when someone inhales?
A life is gone or changed.

Knowing this, I can positively infer that I'm changed and gone and broken all in one.

I'm like a record being used to cut dough. Useless.

Milk and Honey, Sugar and Spice.
I’m calm when I breathe in my headspace, one two three.
A sip of Alice’s Sippy Cup, Delirium state of mind.
I hold my head as neon lines cross my vision.
Resilient as I am, I can’t hold long.
I’m falling, falling, gone.
And then I’m back, Honey and Milk, smelling the spices and sugars-
I’m expendable, I know. So I sip sip sip from Alice’s cup, Get high and drop, fallen angel..
I’m stuck in a paradox of disappointment.
I drown my thoughts in the devil’s temptations.
I’m the Eve from my very own garden, making friends with the fruit salad.
But you’d know, wouldn’t you?
You know.

The petals of a rose are an expression.
Invisible strings pull her taunt
And leave her
gasping for breath in her bud.
Then petal by petal,
step by step,
we come undone.
Blooming, bursting, beautiful and free.
Some leaves crumble,
Some some innocence is wilted.
Yet still the Rose, in all her glory, managed to break through...
She survived.
She survived anxiety, longing & depression
And she was still a beauty.
Roses
are
strong



And so am I.

seeing you in the front row
couldn't help but to stare

saw a weird reflection in you
but you had too much of a glare

thinking of makin' a move
then you left without a clue

thought it was just a vacation
was fooled by my own imagination

outta my mind,
saw you online

you never posted nothing
but always seen mine

could this be any more,
or I am just paranoid?

In the light from the screen,
I saw your silhouette

deeply immersed on what's written,
with hair slipped hanging on your face

saw light shining those little vines,
that twisted like a ripe vine

face glimmering by that soft light,
glowing like a kindle in a firelight

your swinging chair produced a sound,
like a nightingale on a winter dusk

and fingers tapping those little keys,
whose clicking filled the air around

and as I inhaled them,
I felt resurrected.