I stand beneath the rotted cherry tree,
Its branches barren and weak,
A reminder of all that was lost,
Of all the sweet cherries that once bloomed.

This tree was once a symbol of life,
Of love and happiness,
But now it stands, a hollow shell,
A testament to all that has passed.

The sweet scent of the cherries that once were,
Is now replaced by a smell of decay,
A constant reminder of the past.

On the windowsill, all flailing
Legs and desperation—
At times, it attempts to fly
Away, but soon enough it gives
That up as if to say,
“I can’t.”

The movements get smaller and
Slower, but occasionally there are bouts
Of hysteria
(𝙒𝙃𝙔 𝙈𝙀)
Until eventually nothing is left but a
Feeble twitch and really the question
That you should be asking is:
“Is it still alive?”

It is still alive.

It is still alive but it is tired.

Slowly…
Slowly…
Slowly…

On tippy toes, dancing with the Devil; the tipsy ballerina – tattooed
her dreams underneath a piece of Silk. And there's a lace upon my
window eyes, to see through her pain; she seems so brainwashed,
and in such a daze – as rain fell on her hair.

Her skin was once so fair, nowadays it seems to be paying a fare, for
all those potholes up the road to her smile. I splashed in the puddles
of a few wet kisses – speaking less, but hearing a lot of, “all men are
just the same,” as for me, society’s standard of beauty all looks, and
tastes the same.

I held you, kissed you – lending out a lens, to blind my eyes from
seeing your ugly friends. Those you hate in secret; telling me how
MUCH you hate them, and my hate for them, must ALSO be good
at playing pretend.

As you pout your mouth – talking about how much I should bank
on your heart – is that the reason you keep an account on all the
things I've done wrong, to make me lose interest in our love?

Love can feel like it’s around the corner; too busy playing on these
streets, in the present tense – hoping to receive our gifts. But when
love has run its course, it’s a static image of joy; the two are just GIFs.

The words that you’ve forced upon me are sad
I’ll take them anyways but you should know
That you can’t take them back

I pull up grass and feel guilty about it
I know it’s not bad.
So why can’t I stop?
The blade just keeps looking up at me
“Why did you do it again?”
“It hurts”

There’s scars on the yard from the last times
It’s fine.
I’ll water it when I feel better
So why can’t I stop?
The silver just keeps looking at me
“Why’d you do it again?”
“It hurt”

I pull up the grass and feel guilty about cuts
The lawn will grow back
I cover up my arms and legs
The ground is barren and mowed to dirt
So why can’t I stop?
The blade stares
“Again?”
“…”

On cloudy days
above I gaze
And wonder whence the Sun
Has deigned to go
as down below
Long, dark shadows run.

When icey breeze,
and bone-chill freeze
**** warmth and life away
I long again,
To look and then,
See dark subsumed by day.

Truth be told,
If I grow old,
And never more the sun I see,
If I be bowed,
Ne'er more allowed,
Still will I have lived free.

Yeah... I’ll be the reflection of one’s depression – to hotspot their
emotions, for the ones that lack real expression. I am a weapon by
the impression of my pen; I demand love and attention – so ****
possessive; these words are my greatest possession.

My mind… my mind is just a book, and I feel so overbooked.
And the dreams in my eyes are overlooked, while I dream about
my death knowing it’s never too good. But we feel so misunderstood –
hoping not to leave pieces of ourselves. Life dares to cut me down
like a tree, and sometimes I wish it would.

I’m two doors swinging in the milestones of a lonely road. I threw
my rocks at my reflections – their irregular metre, is such an ugly
ode. Still if I reflect other's depression; I’ll transport it around the
globe, and carry their load.

I am their depression to be showed. Yeah, we're depressed, but I
doubt a lot of you would really know!

Seven Minutes before you die,
You'll be flashed with the best memories of your life.
Seven Minutes before you leave,
You will hold on to them but not grieve.

Live for memories, for yourself.
And may life give you rest.