In every field of roses,
There is one that is golden.
It shimmers and glimmers in the light,
From the Sun in the morn, and the Moon at night.
Its petals are glamorous.
Sometimes they reside inside a forest.

There’s always a bee,
For every golden rose.
The hive sees nothing,
Only the chosen bee knows.
A game played since time began,
The game of love, where few seem to win in the end.

He had found his golden rose,
They had grown rather close.
Her golden hair sparkled in the light,
Whether throughout the day or at night.
She was…glamorous,
And they bought a house near a forest.
Life seemed to be going well,
He had her and never thought of anyone else.
But sometimes bees cheat at fate’s game,
And the golden rose was a victim of this plague.

The bee came home one night,
Light emanated from the bedroom.
The bee opened the door,
And he lost everything that he could lose.
His golden rose was with another,
They had been together all night.
Evidence all o’er the floor and the king-sized bed.
They were in the bathroom,
Showering with the new, pristine shower head.

The bee had been played for a fool,
False gold covered the rose he was devoted to.
All at once, her shimmer faded away,
Her petals wilted as they decayed.
The rival bee held onto the rose,
As he kissed her on the nose,
The fool had been planning to propose,
To his supposed…golden rose.

For every bee there is a golden rose,
But there are many fakes, covered in fool’s gold.
They crush the bee, make them lose their wings,
And leave nothing but heartache that stings.

Skin’s breath whispers along a contour, just toward a mask—
I covered all the fears I wasn’t ready to face. No step. No path.
Only the law of this place: the rules you never choose, or chase
and lovers who kiss, and then debate. That kiss that lingers,
then pretends to take shape; and finally collapses into shame.

But I climbed anyway. Dust settled on the staircase, each rise
slower, heavier—stare at the case; for this trial to court a love
that never stayed.

But the further I climbed, stretching the definition of luck,
I fell down more than once; the air above didn’t fill my lungs,
it just filled my lungs with nothing— it swelled my chest with
pride, hot air expanding this heart, but it was too fragile to hold.

Still— memory warmed me, heated moments in my pockets
I had to tuck. I spent dreams like coins, a childhood innocence
bought out too soon, those poor kids who spent all their tuck.
And hope bursting like a cannon shot, life demanding I give it
my best shot – stretching the definition of luck.

So I climbed, until it all snapped—
I fell, rose, and fell again. Here we are.

Tuck in your breath under your chin –
cheer up with a chin up; taking all that
wants to hurt you by the chin.

Asking himself, "how did I wind up here,
winding the clock in my back, searching for
something in the past; "those silly laughs,
those silly long hugs that wrapped around
like they belonged.

Both snuggling closely on that party sofa.
“But no, I shouldn’t sleep over,” she whispered.
He was still speaking in volumes, to own the last
control of his remote living.

Those expectant lips hoping for a soft taste
of goodbye. But the other party let down their chin,
chin knocking away his kiss. Dismissing me with
a gesture gentler than words, sharper than silence.

The night ends in tears.

Something that tastes too sweet stops feeling
like a treat. The tongue grows heavy, and the
stomach twists; as what once melted into joy now
rots at the edges — a nectar that poisons, a kindness
that clings too tight, a love that smothers until you
can’t breathe without choking on its syrup.

Sweetness in excess is a quiet cruelty.
it does not heal; it only hides the sickness
it’s already become. And maybe that’s the trick —
a treat that tricks the tongue, a sweetness so thick
it sticks like honey on the heart, leaving you
starving while pretending to be fed.

Too much **** sugar and even
the heart gets cavities.