choking on flowers // sad poems

eleven

Staying home,

All alone,

Hearts are bound,

Souls are worn—

Buried self and broken bones—

Bruised eyes,

Of the sunflower boy—

Bruised with tears,

And shaking fears,

Bruised with crying and nightmarish dreams,

Of the static he sees,

Shattered dreams and hurt we reap —

Sewing broken parts with

Sharp shivering breaths he heaves

Swollen fingers and bloodied tips,

Needle and thread—

Frozen tips,

Rising dread, words unread,

Thinking this universe would be better off without him,

Destroying his once-warm chest—

Numb tips, and the rapid eclipse

Of demons, blood, and the loss of feelings,

Of all the light of childhood disappearing—

This pain, so normal, so usual, suddenly— appealing

Cracked lips and cuts on hips,

Drowning in red, a slow burnt death

Fading, drowning, slowly,

As he bled

Blueing lips— as he wonders

"Why am I me ?"

"I don't deserve to live,

So why am I here ?

No one will care once I'm dead—"

Tied down to his own bed,

Forgetting his meds,

Aching soul,

Agonizing head—

Seeping in his veins, a darkness gently spread

Tormenting thoughts, as he lay "awake"

Who once saw life through a rose colored lens,

Now taken forcibly away,

Forced to grow up and live with trauma—

"Life," an overhyped melodrama,

What a pitiful mess

He thinks he deserves more

More pain, more scars

Apologizing, but what for ?

Fallen crows and fallen larks

Played like a doll with a "messed up face"

jumped around happiness but drenched himself in heartache

No, love, not even death is painless

Wishing he had the "sick people's" vainness

Lost in the maze, a broken toy

Don't you know you deserve better, sunflower boy ?

—3:13, June 18, 2020