your arms crawled upon my body like vines,
entagling me in a love
that was only fatal.

you made me soft at the edges,
you taught me to forget everything that made me
me.

covering me up
and hiding me.
only taking me out when you needed someone.

no wonder i find it hard to speak.

Moss, and evergreens.
Pale azaleas and vines that grow tall with the warmth of spring.
I hope morning glories sprout their soft wings with the rise of the sun, light filtering through branches of leaves that hang so delicately above.
I hope for milk thistle,
Venus fly traps and nettles.
Sprouts pushing from the earth with a grace that’s invisible to the human eye.
Even with the greatest patience.

when i knew you
you lit cigarettes in your mouth
and flowers in my heart. blossoms
wrapped like vines of ivy in my
bones, and your arms wrapped
around me. tulips touched my arms,
and two lips touched my cheek.
an oak tree keeps me tall, and
you kept me grounded. with you,
every day was like springtime,
everyday was happiness. and now
you are gone, and everyday is
winter.

Cascades of hearts
Entangle these walls
In the early mourning
Their glory calls.

Scarlet red trumpets
That play to the sun.
Singing somber music
Till the mourning is done

They've over grown
My bleeding heart
Destined to die
From the very start

Once surrounded
By forget me knots
But the glory overgrew
And I guess I forgot.

Laid to rest
In a desolate hole
Bleeding heart roots,
My lonely soul

Cascades of hearts
Entangle these walls
In the early mournings
I sing with their calls

When she told me she loved me
I didn't believe her.
So i killed myself instead.
A fairy came to me & whispered enticing secrets in my ear.
He outlined a closet upstairs
where I live alone inside my head.
Tidal waves of white roses grow in & out my of spine.
Suffocating the fishes prancing in a field of raving vines.

Lunar Lullaby plays hopscotch in a cloud of flies.
She licks cherry red ice pops & sings bird hymns to oak trees withering in the wuthering skies.  
Swarming dragon-lies fly in lakes upon Monet's canvas.
There he paints a beauty of Thumbelina whose grave resides in the darkest corner of my empty heart.

A red cape looms above & flutters without wings.
My cave is growing vaster
And so I sail amongst its seas.
This Psychosis is no more wearing thin than Rigor Mortis can begin.
I'll live sedentarily as a maid serving rotten apples to men chained as apes.
A lotus will float on by down this bloodstream & into the night.
As a crater on the moon your corpse died suddenly as when fruit bloom.