Softly breathing by midday,
she turns to me with a soft smile.
She brushes her hands across my arm,
asking me to stay for awhile.

My eyes move as my heart beats,
struggling to even make a sound,
as the sweetness captures my heart and eats,
leaving my soul truly bound.

And so, as she eats away at my fruitless love,
toys away with my aching heart,
I'll let her have my sadness she seeks for,
to rot with the feelings that I impart.

Oh, no. It's happened again.
My precious words have been turned
back on me in a manner of which
I disapprove.

It hurts -- and words
only win their worth
when they're soft,
when they're

pretty.

Zombie on the boulevard,
and then, a Big Gulp at my back.
Wetness, confusion, anger.
Laughter at my expense.

Tense enough to jump
off the overpass,
stuck to land,
glad to live.

What can you do?

The odds are just as good that
the driver and the passengers would,
years later, die painfully from cancer,
or make the permanent ulnar marks
that I chose not.

Honeyed words are sweet, yes, you're right.
I demand truth of myself, and there are times,
when my self is not nice. Does that then make
my words unworthy compared to yours?

In the end, I see,
the answer doesn't matter.
I should ask, instead:
does it make you mad that
there are so many things out of your control?

I've accepted this.
I guess that's why

I find it funny.

I pop a pomegranate seed.
It bleeds,
Delicate fuchsia delight,
Mineral scented, warm, bright,
Full of nectar and promise
(now wasted)

I pop another one,
In a soft cove on my arm-
A slight dip between two veins -
And watch the blushing drop
Edge closer to my elbow. Stop.

A third time,
With the fury of fear
Tiptoeing listlessly in my mind,
Like raindrops on a rooftop.  
It is sweet, and ******,
A waste of time but an act of god
Nonetheless.

I crave the sound and texture of it,
So a fourth time comes around.
By now, the citrus is overpowering
But I keep going,
For the sake of purity,
For the sake of the shock of vibrance
On deathly pale skin.
  
When my arm is covered in juice,
I give up.
There's no sense in envying the wasted.

Scarlet sticks.

the tang of your freedom
laced my tastebuds with a bittersweet aftertaste
that incessantly made me want more

and with every dose
i became more addicted to everything you had to offer
until i had ****** you completely dry.

it was then that i realized, that when life gives you lemons
you shouldn’t always make lemonade

savor the tang

At night, the city bursts like a still life of a firework,
on the ground with the fun people walking all over her.

Everywhere we look,
There are sprinkles scattered across the sky
Marshmallow trees that tower over us
And grass made of fruit laces which
entangles us together, forever.

I pick a flower for you that smells like jelly beans,
Reminding us of our youth, our colour.
Strawberry-scented birds swoop around us,
Laughing and singing in angel delight while
blueberry bees buzz in return.

I turn to look into your chocolate brown eyes which
melt into bliss,
But beware of such sweetness as it can become
so sour.