pastel blossoms
twirled and wrapped
around her head
some pink and some red.

each delicate petal
lies gently
on this rosy crown
feeling light and unbound.

every pigment
shines from the sun
a bright, pale gold,
a color faint but bold.

Pink hair:
Bright and boisterous,
A wild mess on your head.
You talk,
I smile;
It’s nice.
Too bad I don’t say anything.
You run out of words;
I run out of patience.
Bye?
See you tomorrow.

Pink hair:
You’re back.
You talk again,
I smile again.
Today I talk a bit
And you smile.
But we can’t find enough words.
Bye?
See you tomorrow.

Pink hair:
Across the room.
We don’t talk.
We don’t smile.
Was that a wave?
I can’t tell.
Were you looking for words?
I was.

Pink hair,
Will I see you tomorrow?

Pink hair:
Your hair isn’t pink
We still don’t talk
Our chance is gone

Pink hair:
Did you forget something?

i travel along the page
    like i do in my thoughts
          here's a particular one:
              "i sit alone in a cot,
                   breathing air i just bought,
                         crying alone because i sought,
                                   to find the one who explains
                                                        ­               ...apricots"    
oh, it seems that thought
       fell apart at the end there
           but thoughts are slippery
                          and hard to grasp.
                                   let me try again:
                                       "i gasp at the sight
                                             of melancholy fright
                                                    it knows that tonight
                                                         ­       ...i like pink lights"
hmm. strange.
     are these thoughts falling apart,
                or are they just too eccentric
                                for me to understand
...probably the former.

there's this jellyfish
stuck in my head
he swims there day and night
and lights up the dark
inside of my skull
a bioluminescent, fluorescent jellyfish
swollen and pink
he likes to shock me
lighting up the dark
inside of my skull
he has long, coral tentacles
they squeeze around my brain
and he hugs it
and pretends to be a part of it
I think he gets a little lonely up there
if you ask me
no one to talk to
in the dark inside my skull
there's this poor,
poor jellyfish
stuck in my head
who swims laps around my brain
as though the space in someone's head
could ever be as good as an ocean
perhaps someday I will set him free
perhaps I will crack open my skull
and it will no longer be dark inside of there
pink will spew out
a large mushy brain
with a jellyfish attached
his long, coral tentacles
will claw at the air
like tendrils of bubblegum
until someone brings him to the ocean
where he belongs
there's this jellyfish
stuck in my head
and he's very confused
because my head looks nothing like an ocean

The reek of bourbon vanilla lingering through the sappy tones
Of creased leaves and crooked horns, enveloping the royal grave
Embedded with stone, the coronated statue of vines and thorns
Twirling around the remaining cores

Rotten cells and dark floral gourd, an unstable mass crawling
Amongst the bare, rotten shores
The empty shells howl its name - the king
Of naught
Brought to death on the brink - in a whim

Clasping roots and grasping vines,
Luscious soot and dull amethyst,
The graveyard of which the warriors of Gaia
Patrolled in everlasting melancholy - the betrayal of the monarchy
In which they found pleasure in the guilt of misery
They atone for the death of the reign,
Raining in droplets of sulphur and rosebuds,
Meek of the pink of the roses, embroidering the newfound majesty

Alas, the journey of futility,
The thorns grasp its throat
The emperor has been coronated to cease once more.

The cold.
My cheeks flushed pink as I inhaled the remnants of the frail air
Surrounding me - clouded tufts occur
They dissipate as I breathe
I whisper.

The prevalence of rosebuds, nature's pride
Flourish amongst the beaks of the emperor.

Strands of scarlet, stains of blood
They all entail the unrequited sentiment of the weak
The frail entrails dwindling downwards on the empty patches,
Barren warfields where I exhaled.

The enticing floral rain, the vermilion of the soul
The pale old man with the raincoat is watching me
I turn.

Bring me deliverance, old man
The joy of my ultima, the ****** of my being
For you watched me ultimately,
For death cheers for me from the sidelines.

Bring me deliverance, for the caress of the end
Is my valentine.

We dream
we want
the awards you take
We dream
we buy
the hypocrisy
We dream
we want
the new days you describe
in your speeches

The soap box betrays you

Twitter. Tweeting. Facebook. Facade.
Insta. Instant. Dopamine rush.

If you could separate your self from the stage,
that would be great.
-- but if you're going to make a political statement
while accepting an award for your humanity,
you might want to think about what your
individual actions tell the world about you.

Who will listen?
Who will ask?
Looks like money once more
takes the last laugh.

Wonder
True wonder
I see myself over yonder
The future is a promise that cannot be broken
My soul is a machine that cannot be broken
My love of life is an entity that cannot be broken
True wonder rarely approacheth
But it doth give me a sense of accomplishment
I'm finally happy
And I finally
Slowly sink
Into pink

the pink and red
in his cheeks
made me fall in love
each and every
time

over and over
again