She always held herself with the dignity of having a thousand masterpieces hanging from her lips but She never let me stand close enough to hear them
She was good at speaking from a safe distance like that

And as I stood with my toes curled over the edge of loving, she peered down the cliff and asked me if the fall was worth the raging waters
She tried to teach me the difference between love affair and romance, unzipping each word telling me  how some lies are still worth believing, when the truth is still to bitter to swallow whole.

She told me how the windchill can steal all the warmth right out of you, how it even leaves your mouth shivering and empty

I have written enough about it now to know you can see it in someones hands
I have written enough about it now to know you can taste it on someones words
And we stood there on that cliff until the whisper of dusk finally left our lips and my fingers began to turn blue

On the nights I woke up empty, she told me that the darkness swallows up light without even asking its name so don't you dare expect a roll call now. There is no welcome mat outside of 3am but we laid outside the door anyways and she let the sky paint me pictures

On the nights I woke up cold, she reminded me that hands are only as good as what you choose to hold on to, she always said there was some kind of art into weaving your hands into somebody else's. It was the one thing we agreed on.

She said I had a shimmer she couldnt trust just yet but on the night I couldn't read poetry she let me sit next her, she told me that the thing about people and metaphors is that we all need at little editing
and we could all use a little bit more work.

Im sorry if I'm too forward.
i do not only want your body,
i want your heart and your soul.
i want your mind and the way it
thinks so feverishly about details.
i want the heart that speaks
through your tongue.
i love the articulate words you choose
to speak, they keep my head
in the dictionary constantly.
and i want your soul,
you belong in the 1960's
but instead you're here with me.
and that, my dear, makes everything
about this worth while.

trust me, its a bit ****.
the way my hand falls gracefully to your bottom
and how you do not flinch away.
its not even a thought anymore...
its just natural.

you are a beautiful, natural thing, my dear.
every single part of us feels right.
and thats why i haven't run
away yet.

CARNATION: Every frill in her dress is another piece of your heart broken. She withers in the winter but heaven forbid you see her at her loveliest in the spring.

VIOLET: Her voice sounds like steel cutting through velvet. You squeeze her tightly until she blooms in petals of blue and purple.

DAFFODIL: She's a field to run across but be careful that doesn't take you by surprise and lull you into daydreaming for the next 200 years.

SWEET PEA: By the time you lean close to her an inhale her scent, the sky will have already begun falling; she will have already transformed into vapor and taken refuge in your lungs.

LILY OF THE VALLEY: You'd expect to see her floating around in twos and threes, but she'd rather be hidden behind tangles of ivy, where you'd never find her.

ROSE: Be careful that when your hands are grazing her hips that you don't cut yourself because a woman hides her most important weapons under a layer of secrets and maybe there's more to the waistband of her skirt than you'd like to believe.

WATER LILY: A siren of the sea, she is lilting, singing a sad song and hypnotizing you, but you don't know any better and you want to see if she floats in your hands like she does in the water.

POPPY: Kiss her softly and when she collapses into pieces at your feet, scatter her in your bathwater and pull the drain plug and forget about her forget about her forget about her forget

MORNING GLORY: She stretches in the morning and sunlight rushes to touch her and the stripes of rays on her skin make you remember all the reasons why you woke up everyday for a reason other than habit.

MARIGOLD: Beware of the girl who covers her mouth when she smiles. Sometimes, it's because she doesn't want you to see that her heart is in her throat, but other times she's just trying to hide the fangs.

CHRYSANTHEMUM: Her clothes fall like petals in the depths of secrecy, but if you plucked them off the ground one by one, you'd still never know whether she loves you or loves you not.

NARCISSUS: You only love her because you see your reflection in her eyes and all she ever wanted to do was drown you gently.

I am a part of a fallen generation.
The generation that takes pride in their pain.
We don't let it stray too far, we keep it just at bay.
It is very common to have hatred for ourselves more than others.
People are wishing to be dead because the world is too heavy for our fragile shoulders.
Constant headaches because our heads are expanding at a rapid rate
and we will try to stand tall no matter how much our knees quake.
There is no gain without pain or so they told us.
See we've grown accustomed to the constant nagging of our sub conscious desires, a raging battle between reasons to live and reasons to expire.

*-c.a.