choking on flowers // sad poems

six

And the fallen boy he became

sadder by the hour

eyes lacking power

but sweet pink lips still made of flowers

hair swept like the ruffled feathers of a crow

Strange how grief can change you

whether over your own life or something oblivious to your soul

pulling you down by your wings,

caging your heart and messing it up with sorrow

playing it like a tragic cello by the strings

pulling them and playing your heart until it comes to a stand-still;

freezing your gears and time is static with no meaning no more

making you a

mannequinn

You are weary of loudly ticking seconds,

seconds that came not from you but from everyone else,

of passing days and hours,

blown petals of arid flowers

desires, loving, dreams and powers,

And everything, but drowning

in your own tears

into empty sleep.

You feel no more sweet love resides in your mannequin heart,

if everyone you love simply leaves,

No lovely blue lily nor vine,

except for the things you extremely fear.

No more of that sweet love inside you

of your milky skin and thick honey words at night,

of cuddling up beneath blanket forts,

and giggling until first light.

No lovely blue lily nor vine,

a shell,

falling into an endless ocean,

hollow,

but for the bloom-less buds of Smeraldo,

bitter grapes of Dionysus and Proserpine.

— april 29th 2019 —