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Dried-out sweat, tired-out eyes
Placards coated in reds and blacks
Hair strands wet, vermillion skies
Whiteout sneakers underneath slacks

Chipping bricks adorned with dusk's glow
Soft thuds drown in bustling sidewalks
Concrete walls enrobed in guised woes
Like calls of Cincinnati clocks

Down the path's lead, an alley lies
Only known by a few handful
An easy shortcut for the wise
A definite route for the fool

Empty blocks pampered in ruins
Grow dahlia shrubs in feeble soil
Yet cherished by passing humans
As they perceive in gleeful toil

Click, clack. Tip, tap.
Echoing the narrow pathway
Click, clack. Tip, tap. Click, clack. Tip, tap.
Reverberating the walkway

Gush of summer coldness trickles
Playing with thin skin's hair to stand
Along evening's hazy drizzles
Until lips' beam's closed by a hand

Frozen. Motionless. Absolute.
Pulsating ears, vibrating fears
I, the troubled, straightaway mute
Searching for comfort in fresh tears

Frigid, sharp blade graze flesh through clothes
Algid, rough palms tightened their grip
With trembling mouth, whimpers in lows
Time's ticking, closer to the tip

"How dare you go against!?" he yells
His voice falling on deaf pavements
Alike encaging prison cells
Beneath wretched, worn-out basements

Writhed free from his desperate hold
Unclasped myself, away I go
Yet burly hands grab my shirt's fold
On my side, planting the grand blow

The night weakens, the knife deepens
Meeting downcast eyes as I stare
Remorseless, the demon wakens
No plans—this petty soul—to spare

Deafening shrieks still ring my ears
The masses' cries of unjustness
Voices crystal clear amid tears
Demur of headstrong robustness

Earlier's protest fresh in mind
Echoing as I reminisced
Realized the shrills' suit unfeigned
Are screams from my own throat's abyss

Away from the hustling streetscape
For anyone to hear my plea
In desperate crawls to escape
He lifts the wood in counts of three

Bashed head meet placards to shatter
Jagged splinters abrade my face
Entwined with rain's pitter-patter
To finish me off, just in case

Each and every breath nears to none
Boulevard of dreams come broken
The mist douse this limp body done
I take my last, eyes wide open

Dried-out life, tired-out cries
Pebbles coated in reds and blacks
****** palms rife, obsidian skies
Lone witnessed—mum dahlias on cracks.
Day 5 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. This woke me up all night, and definitely not regretting. Yes, I love dahlias.
Rocco Sylvestrie Nov 2019
They say she's dumb
I see in her eyes that she wants to run.
She has a son
She holds so highly
he keeps her warm.
He is her sun.
She needs him near, to keep her here.
As they look down on her she feels their eyes yet she looks away
For she wants no praise.
Yes, she wishes it was different;
but ,this is the plate she was given.
Yes, it looks bad to them so they keep their distance.
Yet
They don't see that
she goes the distance.,
Broken inside
she's lost so much that, she'd end her life ,,in an instant.
But her boys eyes..
That's her insentive .
They see her insensitive
Her eyes say the opposite, full of emotion, she has no choice but to bottle it.
,,, Happiness afar yet she continues to follow it.
The pain that they Wollow in , she swolows it.
Swolow it, she bottles it.
Olena Y Sep 2019
Barn swallows swarm in the nests near the ridge of the roof – they never fly away for the winter because summer in that garden is not ruled by the calendar.

Pears always ripen there, sweet purple grapevines are covered with wasps and apples fall right on to the table…
Here I will always cut flowers into bouquets and make wreaths of dainty mummy’s dahlias and cosmos…

I’ll always collect my herbs and press them to dry in an old book. I just want to preserve my memories…

…how our kitten caught the lizard and how I plucked her to safety. How I held her small body in the palm of my hand and studied the patterns on her skin. How still she was…resigned to her fate. This time you’re in luck, babe. I let you go to the warm cover of the well… you disappeared just like that…will you survive the winter?

I can already feel the coolness of autumn and wrap myself in a blanket to sit down on the porch to sip my tea.

I do the same things I have done so many times in my life…
...ever since you showed me how at midnight Ursa Major and her baby bear walk around our roof, how a salty, starry road leads south and drops its stars in our garden…over and over again in a circle…

The only thing I am sure of now is that shooting stars pay no heed at all to our wishes – they just burn up in the atmosphere and leave no trace behind.
A Dedication.
to My Father
Pyrrha Sep 2018
He said he brought me a flower
I expected a rose, but he handed me a Dahlia
"Rose's aren't my type" he told me
In a garden of a hundred perfect flowers
He didn't choose some carbon-copy crimson petals
He saw in me what he didn't in them
He saw something unique, or as he put it
"Something promising a forever"
1

malice so gelidly plated
on the day of the parting
an old fading rose not receiving love
her bitter heart icy in grief

11

the fresher bloom captivated
his soul with an exceeding depth
a budding beauty so glorious
of splendour he'd prefer to hold

111

words exchanged between
which made for a catty scene
out came the elder woman's claws
wanting to scratch the dahlia's eyes

1V

and the allure of newer flower
he'd ever keep
as the ancient wrinkles
in time did finally creep
angel
she wrote,
devil,
I breathed.
she does not care
she does not care
i listen to sad piano music
and imagine you kissing me
i miss you
you have been gone forever but i still manage to.
your blank eyes still stare back at me
in the mirror
i see you everywhere
Hollywood stole your soul,
and you are not going to get it back.
a bright wide smile,
stretched across the skin.
arms rise up like horns
legs spread open,
laying on the ground.
wednesday on fire
breathing gets harder,
you become colder.
if heaven is real, i hope you’re enjoying your stay,
and you forget how he just left you there.
black dahlia
black dahlia.
you are lost to them
decaying and rotting
they said you should’ve known better
as if you could’ve known,
you full of dreams and purity.
black dahlia
they see you everywhere,
a constant reminder
of what hollywood can do
to beautiful, innocent
girls like you.
based on the unsolved ****** of Elizabeth Short "The Black Dahlia"

— The End —