The heart was a delicate place. To scratch it was greater treason than regicide.

I am as delicate as a flower
made of ice
fine petals
gleaming in the sun
face turned
not knowing the fate ahead
I smile and shine and reflect
and just as the sun illuminates my face
I disappear without a trace

A succulent fruit, I desire, yet strange,  never wish to eat,
my love, you've  ever been, breathtakingly bewitching!
How couldn't I wake  up to this truth sooner, I wonder,
being too aware, perhaps that this heart has no replacement.

Cascading waterfalls
Over cold stone walls

Take a look beyond, to what is so unknown
On the surface it's strong, made of stone

But as delicate as a wilting flower, with it's peddles about to drop
Won't take much, for this bleeding heart to stop

Standing in the salty waves and mist
Of all the tears my eyes, have dismissed

Watching the pages of my life turn
As my story goes up in flames and burns

I've crossed that bridge of sorrow to many times to count
Praying my feet next time, would take a different route

But it seems, I must pay that toll
For on and on, the agony continues to roll

I can hear the demons laughing,  as they're tallying up the score
Full in the knowledge, my years will soon be no more

Bethanie,
She is an ocean
Deep, enchantingly blue and a whirlwind of waves.
A sea of vibrant coral to mimic the Autumn sunsets of summer she brightens your day
    - she is, the gush of salted air on a Saturday morning overlooking the horizon you see her in the colours of the waking sky, swirling and dancing in unison to the delicate crash of each wave she laps at your soul, a touch so delicate it resembles petals.

She is a rose,
Beautiful beyond metaphors and an elegant puzzle that would take a lifetime to figure out. Her kindness is enveloped in her pure actions, twisted like the vines of nature she changes in the alternating light that illuminates her laugh to trickle through life, healing even the deepest wounds.

She is a friend,
One so sincere and true in her own voice. A blessing in my life.

My heart is like a rose, red and beautiful.
But it also has its thorns, from pain everlasting.

My mind is like a dandelion, it sprouts with the sun.
But it is also in a million pieces, since my thoughts all scream at me.

My body is like an Autumn Adonis, glowing ever so brightly.
But it is also dangerous, since I have poison in my veins.

But I am a delicate being,

I am the Flower Child.

Tonight I will sleep on my fragmented thoughts
that my anxieties found too delicate to embrace.

Crushed by nature and neglected from nurture -
I'm not one to hoard but my head must rest.

Is it so wrong for a woman to caress her melancholy
as tenderly as she does her lover?

These pieces of madness once smelled so sweet
like the roses I've kept from years foregone.

I crowd my mind with scraps of death
to remind myself that what is dead, is never gone.