I will die if I continue to wait for you to make up your mind.

And I shiver as I light my cigarette,
The tip turns flaming red.
Taking a breath of death,
My mind is a mess.

There's no one to shake hands with,
No one to share the filth.
I'm a flower that wilts
With no one to notice.

My throat burns,
But it suffocates the hurt.
For what it's worth,
This plight works.

I need to go someplace,
A run-down alley; if safe.
In my home I feel away,
I'm asleep, I want to be awake.

So much interruption,
A lost connection.
Endless noise, I can't function
A frustrated concoction.

The cigarette has burned out,
A bitter taste in my mouth.
This is a silent shout,
My head is distraught.

I hate this place that I live in,
It's so confusing.
I'm breathing, my heart's beating,
But there's simply no meaning.

You planted a garden in my heart,
And the flowers grow with your love.
Please don't leave then to wilt,
While leaving me to die.

Would you like to talk about
The winding water
And its sprouting light?

Yes,

The one you can see at night
From the soup parlor by the river
That serves memories, carved inside
A polished mirrored platter
Which made the boys all bright
And washed them saner
Along its tide of deluded truth

Come,
Would you like to talk about
The winding water?

The home for a thousand soul
All wrapped up, though foul
In a confounded streaming wire
And there, strayed the traveler
For a good four-hundred-year old
With his face down, and stories untold

Would you like to talk about
The sprouting light?
From the lanterns hung
To adorn the tide long
From the flowers of the head
Wilted and and still drowned
By the name of the lil moon’s
All dead hopes

Talking about the winding water
And its sprouting light
The old traveller
And the years has passed,
our little moon killed itself
Just to know that light
Eventually looked beautiful
Shrouded in darkness

Say now,
All my darling—

Why would you talk about
The winding water
And its sprouting light?
Why romanticize a world
Dull and weary?

Because beauty is made up,
and we live for beauty?
Or because we live in beauty,
and life is made up?

I start in the ground.
I just lay there without a sound.
For now I am just a little seed. Hopefully when I grow up I am not mistaken for a ****.
For now I am just to wait.
To wait for the cold and dry to dissipate.
Soon will come the warmth and water.
That will help me grow tall and strong so that I may not totter.
I will then have the strength and power,
to finally be called a flower.
I will finally be able to feel and chase the sun.
Which is what I do for fun.
I follow it from beginning to end.
This is my daily trend.
When my final days come near.
I'm will be glad that I cannot shed a tear.
I hope to be picked as a child's treasure
and to become a mother's pleasure.
So in the end when I wilt,
I will remember the happiness that I have built.

here we stand again
at the precipice of our indifference
i wont stand on this ledge anymore with you
i wont cling to the idea of a future
i am tired of waiting for the wind to kick up my dandelion wishes
and give me more than this delicate balance of tears and smiles and being alone together
this ghost of what we could have been follows me from room to room
heavy atmospheres and wilted ambiance whisper at us
all my words they fall on your dead ears
they fall and shatter forever embedding shards of ourselves in each other
each step another sharp reminder of that almost perfect future
dust off my smile and maybe i will give that to you
and you can break it along with all the other pieces of me you blew from the palm of your hand into the wind.

Rose Petals
     Pretty and red
          Wilting and scattered
         Rose Petals
      Pretty and bleeding
Rose Petals
Dying
  See the Rose Petals
         Falling and silky
      Rose petals
   Both Dead
And Dying

If my heart was a seed
And sprouted veins
That wanted to bloom
The bud would be you.
Blue petals of a Forgetmenot
That he picked
And quietly said "she loves me, she loves me not".
I would wince with each *****
In marvelous pain.
Closing in on each moment that you held the fragile stem between strong fingers.
Every bit would float away with the wind,
Casting your wishes into the sky.
When the stem is finally bare
And you thow it to the ground
I'll be left for dead,
But just know she loved you.
And as the remaining wilts
You'll be forgetting
But I will always be remembering
Hoping all your wishes come true.