another day has passed,
and i still have your photograph.

its beginning to become soft, even though its made from card stock.

its been 9 weeks.
i still miss who i knew.
now you are a stranger, and it rips my soul that if i passed you,
i'd have no idea what to say.

there are roses,
tulips, daisies,
and carnations forming
a garden between my ribs,
centrically swirling and
bending to take up every space.

and it looks beautiful but
within i cannot breath due
to the suffocation and sweet
poison of the memories
each flower you gave me
bears.

i have flowers in my veins.
many have them tattooed,
others just imagine the blue lines
as forget-me-not roots.

i have flowers in
my veins but i have
the sweet aroma
coursing in my bloodstream.
the petals disguise themselves as white
cells. the roots are deep within my
heart.

i have flowers in my veins.
and you planted them there.

Some days, I'm a hopeless romantic-
wishing someone would look at me with stars in their eyes
write me the universe in verses
and braid stardust flowers through my hair.
Other days, I'm a realist-
knowing such things only happen in my mind and in movies
and nice words are all I'll ever be accustomed to.
I guess the butterflies in my stomach have died
because I don't really feel them anymore-
I guess the light they kept running into
burned out..