Roses want blood,
delicacy, and
grace.

Flowers want life,
Love, and
care.

Doomed are those
who treat their roses
as if flowers
bleeding
until drought

Long live those
who treat their flowers
as if roses
giving
until downpour

My soul, it’s aching
The thought of her smile, got me shaking
The sound of her laugh, got me trembling
Her wondering eyes. My thoughts I’m losing
The miles.. got me crying
The moon is dark, why did it lose its light
Does the moon feel me? Feel how my chest got tight?
I asked why are you dark, the moon ignored me in a cold quite
Waiting all night, the times are lost, now I’m stuck in fright
I cried I cried, now my life has lost its moonlight

I like stars,
they're pretty, truly
cruelly, in irony
ebony of the night
they undull

I like mornings,
their colors like
spikes of paint,
faint but majestic
elastic light waves
of four hundred fifty
six hundred twenty
plenty, of wavelength

I like the cold,
rolled into covers
lovers entwined
blind to a frail,
stale reality of
everything, basically


I like your reading
preceding these lines
vines and strings
of things plane,
mundane that I
try to hold onto
since I'm a bit loose


...Thank you dearly
kindly
sincerely

to my Madolyn, Rob , Soliana, Malak, Pinkpearl, Daniel, BJ, Miki, Jules, Willow, Poets Rain, Her, Ashan, Billy, Katelyn, Kirstens, Leah, Emily, Liz, Skyler, HB, Danielle, Robin, Lynnie, Veer, Abigail, and Fawn

We haven't been here long
At all
But your support has been
overwhelming
...to us at least

We haven't written masterpieces
At all
But your responses have been
overpowering
...to us at least

Know we notice you,
Know we recognize you,
and try to get to know you
through the words you present

We could never repay you
At all
But, please, don't forget
we love you
...to say the least

We are honored
We will always work to honor you


Sincerely yours,
A&T (seriously not a ripoff)

P.S.
I can't handle anymore people so you guys are going to have
to help me ****** anyone new coming over. I'll pay.

She asked a mirror if she was the most beautiful. She knew, and kept asking the mirror anyway. She was taking the opinion of something of complete ingenuity, with no life in it, if she was the most beautiful. She could've, I don't know, charmed everyone to think she was, regardless of anything. I don't get it. Her beauty was fake to begin with. Did the person who wrote Snow White have a point to it or is did they just take an easy out?
I don't get it. I'm a two decades old man trying to understand Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs' villain plot.

Slowly. Slow pace
Over a few days
It was drained and went missing
I don't know what it is

Slowly. Slow glance
Over a few cracks
It has left before it went missing
No string left, only wax

Slowly. Slow breath
Over an endless depth
It had dug as it went missing
Given up on my strength

I fall

Today I dreamt of rain
And I couldn't help but feel nostalgic
The kind where you don't know
what you're nostalgic about
I guess.. I really miss that weather

Would you wilt, my Orchid?
Wilt by the waters of ignorance,
by the heat of disparage?

Would you wilt, my Orchid?
Wilt by your stubborn defiance,
by your planted loathing?

Wilt you may, my Orchid,
but in my hands.
Wilt in palms that scurry
to save you.

Wilt you may, my Orchid,
but leave your roots.
Wilt with trace of hope
to save me.

Would you wilt, my Orchid,
by a common rose’s grace?
Would you wilt, my Orchid,
when my heaven is your face?

Somewhere
Where I am me and you are you
But not really

Some place
Where tears relieve and giggles heal
A bit quicker

Somewhere
You sleep safe and I sleep sound
A little closer

Some place
For love and beloved
More sincere

Somewhere
My fingers ache slower
As I play your song
As I play mine
And wouldn’t stop anyway


I’ll wait for that shooting star

Eating two slices
With Nutella in between
And chocolate milk

My friend brings misery wherever he steps.
Blessing, he doesn't step around often.

My friend overeads whoever he met.
They don't usually stick around often.

My friend overthinks whatever he says.
Never listening, and not chatty often.

My friend is a good man,
decent company,
A thoughtful being,
And miserable often.

My friend brings misery with every step.
Or misery brings him, I can't yet tell.

Intimidating and bright
with sick humor
All about Parmesans and Mozzarella
A Pepperoni amidst meatballs
Hoping someday he'd rule a world
free of ducks

Head first
I pushed through every wall.

it didn’t work.

tried again, and again

it didn’t work—my head burst.

with hands worn, I went back
rebuilt them all.

it didn’t work, but I built more.

it still doesn’t work and now
my hands broke.

but at least no more
sounds come through
and at least
I’m far enough.

I’m tired, but I’m better.

I lay and you atop of me
in comfort; safe.
Still I miss you every time
you die a little and breathe out.

Care to share your favorite music
with your boi here?

Hello there, those I know and those I don't.

Newborns can't walk because they never fell.
They end up growing up, sooner or later, and walking, running, sprinting towards or away from whatever. Falling in the process, of course. In many ways, that is.

When we trip and fall we know it's gravity we're supposed to resist. Other falls in life, however, aren't as clear. And we simply don't know.

Like a baby who doesn't know their feet are meant for walking; only knowing they must move from point A to B, and finding a way.

I see you my friends; I see you falling and puzzled. Afraid sometimes.
I feel your pain, the echoes of your falls too familiar. Same as you, I also don't know.

But it's okay to fall. More, it's okay to fall apart. I've had to a couple times. I like to believe it made me better and better each time I recollected myself.

I am fine. You'll be too. I believe in you.

With Sincerity.

There's regret, shame,
and a dozen dozen times of
'I wish I'd take it back'

That's of mistakes, blame,
and misjudgment decorated
with two licks of misfortune.

You, me; everyone.

But I don't want a time machine.
Not because it can't work, theoretically,
nor because it'll be a mess if it did

I don't want a time machine.
I want that **** on my back.
I want my cut hands.

I don't want a time machine.
I want my insults to stay.
I want my old friends' grudges held.

I don't want a time machine.
I want my lost to stay dead.
I want my living to stay alive.

I want me. This me. And you. And everyone.

So there's that stuff
in the first two paragraphs,

and there's peace,
and it's been staring me in the
eye for way too long to miss.

"... I don't want you to leave"

Normally, I wake up mid-sleep.
I didn't this time.
I did actually, but just that once,
just the once to get to her.

And we're in the backseat.
and she's most precious.
Just a taste, just a taste.

"... Do not hurt her"

I know, I know; I won't.
She will, once I wake up.
Hold my hand, just a taste.

And in a maze of buildings,
And in a maze of rooms.
All white, pink, & pastel.

She's pink & pastel. Most Precious.

Coiled like cats beneath her blankets inside a freezing room.

"Hey"
with a smile. Most precious.
"...hey."

And she was gone.

"... I don't want you to leave"

Feelings, I think, are fluids. They sway; twist and turn with ease. They come in all tastes and colors, light, viscose, and all in-betweens. They can be contained, spilled. They’re often prone to leaking, and with enough pressure, they’ll burst.

Feelings, I think, like all fluids, can suffer drought. Some fade with no remnants to be found. Some, may it be to one’s dismay or comfort, leave something of smell or taste, maybe even a memory of color or an everlasting stain, behind.

I wonder if indifference is the sand sea in this scenery. The demise of all that’s felt, no trace nor sign remaining. I wonder if it can overcome the fiery, glowing red of blood-thick anger, the melodies sung in pastel by infatuation, perhaps even the droplets of pitch-black fear that echo loudest.

If so then I truly wonder why indifference exists. What the loss of all feelings accomplishes.

What’s it called?
A wishlist? Bucket list?
Whatever
Had I one, I would wish this:

Somewhere
Where I am me, you are you
And the world is the same
But not really

Somewhere where physics is different,
Reality a little ****** up

Where food cooks faster
Then tastes better
Where cats don’t act ******
Four in the morning
Where what we liked more
Cost a little bit less

Where clouds could be slept on
Soft and cushy
Where breaths underwater
Spoke to the Fish
Where dragons exist, I don’t know

A place that’s better,
In a bad way.

I can't tell whether they eclipse because the Sun is jealous of your radiance or if they eclipse because the Moon wants to be the only one able to glare at you.

How fair you are; still never fair to us.

The fields flourish by a cold droplet's grace,
yet fall to ruins of a few fallen the more.
And nothing can be done against determined winds.

As she was the beginning of everything he was
an end to it all. An iron fist of will he doesn't comprehend nor controls.
Dons the Cloak of Despair; wishing himself away:

His holy trinity consisted of heaven, hell and purgatory.
The inevitable battle he knew he would face in the eye of his beholder -
for he could not fathom the weight of responsibility he had upon her soul.

As nothing can be done against determined winds,
but to hide. And

Accept.