Petals, oh these metals.
They fall,
Paling.
Blackened.
Dyed crimson.
A celebratory death dance,
I have found a new advance.
And the brilliant yellow sun,
How it slinks in the night!
So comfortable,
I have left it behind.
Toxic were the tendrils
that kept me where it stood.
A million stinging nettles,
In my heart, they took root.
The pink quills of Cyanea,
the futility of their purpose.
They don't always wither away,
So I've set them all aflame.
Romeo's sheath, Hermes' fool-
Treating my human tendencies as a tool.
Forget this fragility we call love,
Cut the strings and rise above.
Past the smoke and ashes,
it will come clearer through these lashes.
If my woven words fail to reach you,
Nothing else will ever do.
I fell in love so I began to write. I might be falling out of love as I recreate our plight.
