my dear flora

your lips are roses
but only the thorns
and when i tried to kiss you
my flesh was ripped away

though i lay bleeding
i grabbed your wrist still

i would place my mouth on yours
despite my fresh blood
a million times more
so that once i may feel
the soft petals of your love

I once drank wine that tasted of you

dressed up like a hideous doll
a pristine black suit so crisp and new i thought it might snap my sternum
i am to sit still in the chair
the table moves and shakes
there must be laughter but what i hear is simply the beating of a dozen hearts
my only connection is a scattering of confetti through a wine glass
i do not speak
my joints are stiff as my starched shirt
what food lies beneath my gaze
on such a pretty plate trimmed in gold
makes me sick
i yearn for acknowledgement
only to be looked upon as if
i was part of the table's grand centerpiece
the whites and soft pinks of flowers
could just as easily be pierced through my skin
to mix with my tired blood
and create an array of colours so dazzling
as to compliment the crystal chandeliers
i do my duty as second to centerpiece
and my hands so neatly in my lap
though fingernails mark my palms

tell me who we are

We are the same.
Two reflections together abandoned.
Always striving to perfectly mimic the already perfect.
Until the person standing in front had noticed their other self in the mirror no longer moved as they did.
Instead us reflections dance disjointedly and try to consume what is in front of us.
Like the black liquid sea tries so hard to absorb the stars and become them.
A pretty picture so easily shattered by ripples created from a mere insect landing on its surface.
Just as we had been broken, when the perfection we wanted so badly to copy had turned so slightly to face us and seen our hungry jaws and extended arms.
Reaching for their skin, hair, eyes, and also what lay beneath the body.
The soul, perhaps.
And with their flawless fingers they pushed the mirrors we thrive inside.
Pushed them to the dirt and watched us both crack and then lay limp.
The last thing our desperate eyes had seen,
were those two broad backs turn away and walk, able to pull from our starved grasp as we both
ceased to move.
I looked to you, but your tears had already fallen down porcelain cheeks.
My throat was too paper thin to call out your sweet name.
I wanted to stretch my hand out to you but I was already long gone.

夜の涙

He never tells me when he's lonely, I know he doesn't want me to find out.
But the way he moves leaves an air of something empty, like a street after the rain stops.
His hands hold my cheeks and he stares into my eyes like his missing pieces are buried within my memories somewhere.
Our chests pressed so close together, hearts beating in tandem, each heart willing the other silently to never stop pumping.
Tears don't fall like raindrops, but more like candle wax, slowly down our faces, sliding and caressing.
They mingle with skin and sweat and are lost in bodies of emotion.
Time has no meaning at night, seconds pass like an eternity. The clock stops ticking and we might sleep forever if the sun didn't turn the night into another promise.

過去

The past trails after me as a cluster of memories that have failed to be forgotten.
They grasp my sleeves, wanting to hold me close, wanting to touch my face and kiss my eyes closed.
In the nothingness of nighttime, they sit aside my bed, indenting the covers, gazing, with hands made of old moments and goodbyes, they smooth down my skin and push pins through my eyelids.
They split my chest open with knives made of spilled tears and pull away the flesh like I have pulled away from living.
My heart doesn't beat, it lays as a place holder for the promise of days to come. My ribs, cracked yet still solid, cradle it fondly, protecting it from what the world has to offer.
Those hands scratch at me, squeeze the breath right from my lungs, pull my organs like they would pull a thread through a sewing needle.
My blood runs warm and gentle, it stains everything I've ever had.
When sunlight shines across the room and I am no longer a corpse of the night, those memories with their familiar fingers and unsettling presence once more fall behind me to create a shadow of who I once was and who I long to be once more.