this rose unfolds itself
to rotten wilted petals
what once was brightest red
have become sharp nettles
a flower of truest beauty
now with scent of death
how akin to it i am
the tragedy of macbeth

that bravest man's story
of a slip into temptation
****** all the way home
from love's infatuation
like the King himself i feel
agast at what i have done
i split myself wide open
solely for the one

and let these insides rot
to the tune of 1612
simply for the fact
of what your gaze delved
with spring around the corner
and these loathsome dead leaves gone
change i feel i have;
this new dawn

into exactly what
i know i cannot say
for does a caterpillar know
what happens when the cocoon decays?
the butterfly that springs forth
is made from its past pain
much like i aim to be
when free of her constrain

you were so golden to me
and i, wished i was to you
your support was the sword
with which i conquered fears

deserving.
you deserved a true friend.
i clamored to be him
but i wasn’t
and i can’t.

for this,
my guilt is monolithic
for this,
i have spent so many days
skewered with grief.

In this wretched existence
Not a day has passed I don't dream of you
The gentle nature of unadulterated love
That defined our mutual existence.
These echoes reverberate so strongly
Throughout the day-to-day mundanities
I wonder if I unknowingly
Committed a séance.
I ache so much
For mere want of such a simple thing
As the beacon of light
That was your presence in my life.

lilium,

You were so beautiful
And I, so desperate to prove to you
That the heavens shined forth
And the Earth itself warmed
When you gazed upon me
With your smile.

writhing and screaming
i dreamt in smashed hearts and scarlet eyes
in it, i glimpsed
all the love and support i had bled myself to accomplish
was thrown out in favour of a greener man.
indeed
instead of growing firm from my current status as a support beam
into the proper foundations
you chose to forsake me
for one so much more accomplished than I.

often horrid foresights of this nature plague me
a small tick i cannot rid myself of
each time I dedicate my heart to one, and one alone

the genesis of this disgusting anticipation
might easily be traced to the progenitor
that first yearning i felt so many years ago
it was early in my youth
i fancied myself smitten with a newfound human
after childishly condemning myself to romantic solitude
  at the onset of puberty

she taught me the intensity of infatuation
the lovely languish of being head over heels
and not a fortnight later
sent me into the deepest depths of despair
for what she had sworn to the stars
she quickly replaced with a decree to the devils
"I found one better"

in my guilt and misery
i blamed myself
and forced a conclusion of the following:
these tools i fashioned to show love
do not fit any existing mold.
i, must love too much
must care more than can be beared
must support, beyond what is norm.

yet
as I awake, i breathe in my surroundings
and remind myself that this fear
though cacophonous at my lowest
is nothing more than old hurt
desperately clinging for relevance
in an existence where i know the gifts I bring
are appreciated by those who surround me
and that eventually
they will be welcomed by you.
when you are ready to accept
that which i know you deserve.