The past can tear at you
It can cut you open
Leave you with inflected rotting wounds
It can twist the blade deeper
Until you're begging to die
And worst of all
It can take you back
Make you feel like you did then
Rip your heart from your chest
And leave you without
Thank god it can't make you that person again

deep in my core, I am as sweet as honey. I have beautiful bouquets inside of me. touch me and i will bloom for you. slice open my midsection and the flowers will curl around my ribcage. crack open my skull to find incredible thoughts growing as they form. separate my legs and watch me open petals of the prettiest hues.

my petals, my nectar, my thorns. all yours.

selfish lovers have picked my petals off, crush me at the stem of my core. I begin to wilt; I slowly rot. they are repulsed. my beauty turns to death and they turn the other way. quick to blame, they fail to notice it was their hands to taint me.

flowers require delicate hands and the nourishing sunshine to survive. when kept in the dark, they wither. how could you expect me to be any different?

if I could rewire this brain of mine -- this body of mine -- I would much rather fill myself with thorns; poison, barbed wire to wrap my bones.
but I am soft, I am sunshine and nature divine. I bloom and wilt and recreate myself time after time. it takes more than ravenous hands to stop me from growing.

She worked upon their minds,
Using sharply hooked fears
And soft feathered wings,
To whisper insidious desires
Into their hearts and minds.
With the bait laid, rotting in the sun,
They came in droves to feast.
The butcher licked her crimson lips and smiled.

if it were up to me (and it isn't, it's up to dice) the universe would be made of a mixture of purples and half-aware blues,
separated only by the sardonic coolness of hologram grids.
doctor doctor! doctor doctor! focus on the wound the sun is inflicting upon the ocean riddled
with streaks of white, i'm losing the saline in its scent
and all that remains (all that shall remain) is reddened sand.
furthermore i would allow bamboo to grow anywhere it pleases
not a **** but a gift from the ground below
not messing up floor plans but rather improving them in a very experimental way you wouldn't understand
the architecture is okay
the sky is okay
the rain is full of acid but it's otherwise okay
oh please get up off the ground i need to clean it

Rotting skin,
Rotting flesh,
Rotting eyes,
Scent of death,
Rotting face,
Rotting bones,
Unknown corpse,
Blank tombstone,
Time forgets,
Life moves on,
Forgetting those,
Who are now gone.

Sometimes a single apple
Can ruin the whole lot.
Perfect
and shiny
and ruby-red,
crumbling into bruised wrinkles
and spotty, brown lumps.
Before long,
the bowl is brimming with the sundown of a harvest's life,
and flies begin to swarm.
And even when some are left,
bright and fresh,
newly ripe,
I won't go near them,
for fear of turning them over and finding the ugly,
mushy
evidence of their flaws.
Just like the others,
almost worse,
because they allow for an optimism,
in your hunger,
you allow the glimmer of hope
and reach for one
hesitantly.
But no,
it's just like the others,
only deceptive,
pretending to be something that can satiate your needs,
when in truth,
it's just another piece of rotting fruit.

kids shouldn't go to rehab at fifteen
but you sent me anyways
which was too many days
I made a best friend there
her name was xollie
she talked of her life in California
how her grandma took her and her siblings in
all the empty bottle pills in the bin
rotten milk on the counter
she felt like she was going to rot away with it
she spoke of living with ghosts
guess it isn't always fun living on the coast
dropping acid and crushing pills
she didn't care if it kills
then there was Jane
from Las Vegas
she told us stories about being high on ****
she wanted the drug to bring her death
she slept in the dirt and hallucinated cops
and airplanes flying above searching
for her, no one was looking not even her pops
two black men told her they'd get her high
if she would just go to their apartment with them
you see Jane was a gem
the only one who didn't see it was her
once she was too high to be able to move
or speak, the mens intentions weren't pure
they tore into her heart
as she cried silent tears
she wishes she could just restart
just wishing to be free of the drug
and these men forcing themselves into her
then there was Chloe
her brother ******* her and her mom in a closet
Chloe thought of not being able to get high
that thought made her want to *****
he had found her bubbler
we stood around a fire
and burned the papers that held our worst memories
Jane doesn't throw her paper in
so I give her hand a squeeze
sometimes we think we deserve all the worst moments
but fourteen year old Jane did not
fifteen year old xollie did not

Love’s spring bud falls as an autumn leaf,
Sinking into the murky soil that is life,
Its  remnants left rotting, to be soaked in, nourishing a new love,
Why can’t the sun shine through this haze of mediocrity,
Where have all those beautiful weeds gone.
If my soul doesn’t freeze, maybe this one will flourish,
Maybe.