When strangers arrive be nice to them. Offer kindness. Recommend beautiful places, delicious homeland cuisine and exquisit wine and healthy beverages.

I walked into the fun house
I trod into the ball is mirrors
I looked around and quickly realized
That the wiggly and distorted reflections of me
Were by no means ordinary.

I looked at one mirror and saw myself
Crying over a skinned knee in first grade
And I saw myself again in another mirror oversized and indulging in gluttony.

I saw myself, looking on at various crushes in lust filled regret.

The moral of this trip into the hall if mirrors, is very simple. Look at yourself and you'll change what the mirrors reflect

A kind of life akin to a nuclear autumn
With frenzied creatures drinking from a demon spring

who told you you could? who said you were allowed? when did you first do it, slipped out from under the watchful eye of anyone who would forbid you? or could? what does it sound like when you talk out loud to yourself. in the mirror or looking up or looking out. how does your voice sound different when it reverberates off the walls or pops in the air in the day-time? or bounces off of your reflection and back down your own throat? what does your own name sound like to you? you got something to say. it’s going to come out whether we like it or not. whether you want it to or not. you want it to. 

is it like dinner? warm, and in your mouth? satisfying? is it coming through your body, like the sun coming in and then shining out at the same time? the sun is right there in your mouth. the light is shining through your teeth. like through the cracks in a window, we can all see it. i swear.

is it cold, and wet, on your hands? how fervently are you drying them, back and forth, scraping, palm and back of the hand on your starchy jeans. palm and back of the hand. up and down. first it slides off like droplets and then its coming out in sheets. who knew you could be like God. like thunderstorms from the tips of your fingers. it might just feel wet. "they're wet because i just washed," getting caught at a strange time, like, "they’re clean." "i’m clean, i swear.” You swear.

is it like sleeping with the window open? on top of bed and in and even under? one foot hanging off? both? got the window open, fresh air coming in? for me, it’s trapped between two buildings, not fresh at all. it slips in over the course of the night when it wants to. it is like my lover standing at the top of the staircase. i picture her like this: low white heels. khaki coat. platinum blonde, updo, coiffed. standing on the top stair, dangling one foot back, holding herself like she might turn away and run down and out the door in front of me. like she might turn on her heel and not stay with me tonight, or any night, and then won't call. i’m saying, you can come to bed, you can just go to sleep, we can just lay here and be cool. you don’t have to tease. air in the night-time taunts me now. i hope she got home safe. i wonder. that’s just how it is for me. i just live on the second floor. it’s hot up here.

is it like $20? got it pressed into your hand when you don’t need it? only good for a bit? or maybe you do need it, more than ever, you can’t believe its yours now, and, it’ll be gone soon. you ******. not surprising. unless it’s from your parents and it’s i-dont-need-it-i-dont-i-dont and they know you do so let’s all just not pretend and flatter each other. you can just call it cash. that doesn’t sound too pretty.

tell me what it’s like. that’s what you’re good for. and instilled within you is a certain ever-evident self consciousness. you are intended to constantly to doubt and ponder. why am I here? and, who is listening? and, who cares? why? why? we haven’t even got the time to answer that, there's no time, God, you're stupid, and, this has gotta be quick. why? why, because of urgency! urgency like a hungry wolf. get the words on the page, i’m starving. like a hungry wolf here. he is biting at at the corners and on the spine, he is scary and making fun and loves when you panic. he is biting with teeth and you remember his lips, too. funny. no one ever talks about a dog’s lips. but he’s got them, just like we all do. promise, say i am going to rip any wolf from the page. i am going to de-claw and go at all my metaphors with pliers. forget the wolf, actually. spit all that hair out. pull it off your tongue. take your time. it is not his story to tell. i’d say, to anyone listening, i’m doing this for you. twist and twist and tighten and, now, look at that. look at what my hands could do. crazy. i taught myself, i would tell them, if they asked. just to impress them. because i care. make them listen. is it about someone else, now? am i going to make it about and for someone that isn't me? can i trust them?  are they just sitting on my chin with one ear pressed up to my mouth, just for now, keeping me around in case i got something useful to say? i'd probably trust them even if that were the case. i'd trust them even if they were doing it just to make me feel good.

when someone is listening, what do you tell them? what do they need to hear? did they need it? and, did they know they needed it? yes, yes, yes, yes. when you got someone sitting down and quiet and you swear you’re so important, they need it. they’re about to find out.

The winds of change
Carried you into my life
It had gone strangely stagnant
Now I look forward to waking
At each new sunlight

The calls may be simple
But the stories and smiles nearly infinite
Well we have enough in common
So I'm cool talking every minute

It ***** that you live
Oh so far away
But hell we've created a ******* sweet bond
And that much is here to stay

All I can feel is sorry.

It feels every space where there should be other emotions.
Or comes linked with them.

I'm mad, sorry
I love you, sorry
I'm sorry, sorry

I'm sorry for the things I've done,
things I haven't done,
but mostly what I will do in the future.

I know I'm going to hurt you
so every time I talk to you all I can feel is guilt.
Every time you smile I am reminded of how soon that will be gone and it will be my fault.

So when I apologize for every little thing
it's not really because I'm that sorry for stealing your fries,
it's to apologize for the future when I won't be able to.

They ask me where I'm going
I say north south
A bitter taste left in my mouth
They ask me where I'm going
I say east west
I'm on house arrest
I'm staying here
Or I'm moving in a straight line
I'm sorry
That I don't know what the **** is going on in my mind
Please take me away from here
Before I drown in myself
Give me true love
or maybe some beer
I'm sorry I left
But I'll eventually circle back
I think of leaving you
And I have panic attacks
But you don't love me
I guess I should take a clue
You ask me where I'm going
I say north south
I've wasted my youth
You ask me where I'm going
I say east west
I failed my acid test
I'm sorry that I'm leaving
But the air is just so heavy
And I'm having trouble breathing
Ill circle back again

By: Nabs

    When I was little, my mother often gave me flowers.

She would make me a crown of Primroses that smells like the day my father left us.
I would smile and dance a little twirl that had her smiling fondly. Her little princess, Said she couldn't live with out me.
I believed her.

Right before my mother decided to stop breathing, she gave me a bouquet of Lily of the valley.

I never knew that apology was poisonous.

    The day I turned fifteen, my grandmother gave me a book on flowers, It was written with green ink and bound in human skin. Said that It was family heirloom. Said that the universe needed someone who understand Hana. Said that I was born to understand only them and to remember that flowers are ephemeral.

I cradled the book, feeling as if the world was spinning. Opening it feels like coming home after a long time of drowning.

By the time I realized, a bush of Basil and beds of Petunias were growing in my home like ****. The color should have been red instead of purple.

      I met you when you were giving a bundle of daisy to a boy.
The boy scoffed and slapped the daisies to the ground. It's petal were falling apart just as blue and black blooms like an eager bud on you. Your body were taut as a string but your face was smiling, the kind of smile I couldn't decipher the meaning.

I picked the daisies up and asked if i could keep it.  You said only if I gave you my name.

You were wreathed with White Hyacinth and Pine leaves. It suits you.

    You told me one day, after you gave me a Bleeding Heart, that I needed to learn more than the languages that flower speak. That I needed to learn human.
I asked to you why do you say that?
You looked at me, with a little smile and a soft look on your face. Told me that I was too oblivious, I was more flower than human. I frowned and said," That hurts".
You laughter was much more sweeter than any Honeysuckle.

Though I still didnt understand your laughter nor the bleeding heart.

    The sight of our hands lacing together, looks much more delicate than Queen Anne laces. It made me aware of the dips of your lips, how warm your callouses hands were and the way you sometimes darts to sneak a glance at me with warmth in your eyes when you thought I wasn't looking.
I would feel my heart thumping loudly and I would disentangle our hands, trying to hide the tremors in my hands. You would pursed your lips and cracked a joke.

The next day I received a bouquet of Lilacs and red Peonies. It was too beautiful and I was already withering.

    You often asked If I was ok. I said I was. You would go rigid at that and started to pull down all the blinds to your soul. But that day when I answered I was ok, you gave me an Orange mock.
Said that I can trust you. You left with out meeting my eyes.

That night, I left a single Aster on your window sill. Hoping I did the right thing.

    The thing was, I was scared. Not of you, no never of you. That I swear on White Lilies and Myrtles that we bound ourself to.
It's just, every time I'm with you I want to bare my self naked. To let you see how the parasites are growing inside me, withering me as it did my mother. My grandmother would say that it is our legacy we cannot escape. To grow and bloom then wither ourself after the peak.

My Grandmother was a Sakura tree, My Mother an Ajisai, and I was a Tsubaki.

My mother was supposed to lived longer than me. But Hydrangeas needed their rain or they'll wither away.

    You told me once, that I remind you of Wisterias. Always enduring even after the cruelest storm. I grimaced and whacked you on the back. Said that you were an idiot for thinking that. You laughed again and tickled me until I asked for mercy.

I feel less Tsubaki and more human with you.

    I never let you go to my home because I could not bear the thoughts of you seeing the lawn strewn Marigolds, the grief that latched itself to the soil.
How the yards was filled with weeds and plants that was tangling them self to choke each other. How the walls was bare and the furniture was only enough to survive. The only thing that was lending colors to my home were the branches of Plum Blossom and bouquet of Lilacs and Peonies that seems to not wither away.

This home would not hold further.

    I gave you Blue Carnations the night when vines were choking my lungs, making it hard for me to breathe.

You said they were beautiful, and smiled a serene smile. I wanted to kiss you so bad, but I was leaking clear salty sap, that was rolling down my cheeks. I told you all about Hana and all about my family. How bare my home is and how you are my Iris, my good news, my good tidings.

You hugged me, not minding the sap that's staining your shirt. I didn't see the Red Camellia you were tucking in my hair.

  The day when I almost gave you Red Daisies and Lungwort was the day I found out that you had severe allergy to flowers.
That breathing their pollen would shorten your life as the breath you took became a privilege that you were slowly losing.
I asked, "why would you endanger yourself like that?".
"I love flowers, that's all", you said with an uncaring shrug.
The thoughts of you withering away, made me nauseous.

I went home throwing away the Daisies and Lungwort, Burning down the marigolds and Petunias.

The only thing was left were Hana and the bouquet of Lilacs and Red Peonies.

  I never get to told you that my roots was withering.

  When you found me lying on my home, covered with Primroses, Camellias, and Blood Red Poppies, I know that you knew. In your hand were Peach Blossoms and they were so very beautiful.
You cradled me close to your chest. Whispering that I will be okay, that It's unfair for me to do this to him.
"I know", I rasped. My voice was barely working and Black-Red sap was steadily tricking from the corner of my lips.

  When I saw my mother walking down to me, carrying a basket full of Sweet Peas, Volkamenia, and Yarrows, I understand what your smile meant the first we met.

It was Red Camellias, Love and acceptence