The sun was always brighter,
The sky, an endless tapestry,
The world’s hidden beauties,
Amplified in her dreams.

The crunch of fall under her feet,
As she jumped into a pile of leaves.
In a moment, the world was covered in snow, and she,
Smiled blissfully.
Springtime flowers bloomed,
The world covered in hues,
She saw good ol’ Mother Goose,
From the nursery rhymes she recalled when she was two.
She felt free,
In her dreams.

Adventure called from all around,
Knight’s boots clanking on the ground,
An ever-changing battleground,
Filled with overwhelming sounds.
Sometimes, the duels were in space,
Others, it was just a simple race.
Occasionally, she’d lose just for fun.
What does it hurt to mix it up?
After all, she was the god of her own world,
In her dreams.

The worlds she created,
Almost seemed real.
But dreams, consistently,
Have the same fictitious security,
That can distinguish whether it's fake.
She remembered when she was younger,
And she longed for endless dreams.
She wanted them to cross over,
An ambitious endeavor,
Now she longed to see the real sun.

In her dreams,
She’d wake up.
No more sleeping blissfully,
She needed to see the world again.
Look her mom in the eye,
And apologize for the accident.
If she were still alive,
She’d pray she hadn’t perished yet.

Her mother dreamed,
That her daughter awoke.
So, she drove to the hospital,
And watched as her heart broke.
She remained,
Comatose,
Her brain unstable,
And her heart rate growing low.
All because of teenage love,
Kissing blissfully and driving drunk,
Leading, inevitably to pain and suffering,
To all parties.
The man she was with,
Was already dead,
She’d be lucky,
If she lived.
She feared,
About all she’d miss.

How she found herself longing for the mundane,
If it meant she would receive one more day.
She’d never touch a bottle again,
And she’d leave her toxic friends.
How she wanted to brush her teeth,
The simple notion inviting reprieve.
Her mother’s pancakes were divine,
She wanted to devour them one last time.
She couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish,
To throw it all away.
She’d make sure to be more careful,
Till her final days.

Life seemed to be a blissful reality,
One that she’d trade anything to see,
All of its intricacies,
She wished she could take back everything,
In her dreams.

As it calls for my name
I decline the opportunity.
Thoughts filled with hesitation
Feelings of guilt weigh heavy with temptation,

What am I to do when I crave attention
My body could only hold out for so long…

It calls for my name,
But I decline the opportunity
Thoughts filled with possibility
But guilt weighs heavier than any boulder
With feelings.

The weight of it all has me hunched over
The burning sensation of body heat under the scorching sun
Recreates the fire of Notre-Dame.

As it calls for my name, for one final time
I finally accept the opportunity
As the burning flames unfortunately take over
And I succumb to the fire.

They said I drowned,
but the truth is softer:
I laid myself down like an offering.

I spit river into their open mouths.
I bit the lilies in half.

Silk turned cathedral.
I let my dress balloon with river light.

The earth had nowhere else for me.

If you pressed your ear to the surface,
you would have heard me humming.
They didn’t write that part.

When they pulled me out,
I still had violets in my teeth.
I still had the nerve to look alive.

If ruin was the crown they gave me,
I wore it dripping.
I wore it bright.

You think you know the story:
girl, river, grief.

But the water was warm that day.
The sky was a soft ache.
I was tired of carrying everyone else’s ending.

So I wrote my own.

Not drowned.
Not tragic.
Not accepting their ending.

Embryonic love is an iron box around the heart,
Any tiny shift in surroundings is arrhythmia.
I didn’t know what it was to
Bathe in the warmth of
A sunlight unceasing
Until that box came and closed off my arteries.

It is a shock to see you and I shiver with delight
But brittle, I cower from the painfully
Bright sight of your eminence.

I can forgive you your beauty, dearheart.
I cannot forgive the fear in that box.
And so I must overcome.

With a ship of cardboard and wax
Built out of hope that frailty
so despises. Journeying up and up

Burning when I draw near enough
to catch your unwittingly destructive
dismissal. Tumble tumble through
The atmosphere and gasp for
Air that isn’t present
And feel the iron box shrink
Shrink shrink and all at
Once it
ends

All of my love for you, will only ever written in letters, not in life.
For if I ever told you the truth, you would surely begone.
You'll forever be my last fleeting word, in life and in death.

A fruit that kills,

A woman that deceives.

A man, banished—

Exiled to the mud,

from whence he came,

and shall return.

He toils and tumbles,

screeches and cries.

The trees watch,

with growing silence.

The roots cave in.

They are ignorant—

to my suffering.

A witness that

never confesses.

They bear fruit

that fall and are bludgeoned.

They cry in silence—

there is no one left

to devour their pent-up tears.

—I grow tired,

I grow weary.