hangs an immature heart.
It’s sweetness so tempting
and having traveled far for its knowledge.
Loneliness will be a memory now.
Twisting and pulling,
the fruit comes undone at your hand.
Savor the taste of an unrequited love,
not of your garden
but of another.
Mourning dew saturates your stone,
silhouetted memories buried within me.
Birds try to sing harmonic psalms,
but only silent scores reach our ears.
It’s difficult to say the right words now,
when it was easy to say the wrong ones.
here I am,
Talking to a rock.
Shows how desperate I am to talk to you,
when I never let you say your piece.
You’re probably telling me to smile,
It’s not what I want!
I want you to blame me.
How I could’ve been better!
Always lying and
why you left me—
I know this doesn’t make sense,
even I struggle to comprehend it.
I only hope is that you think about me
as much as I think about you.
Who would’ve guessed
that all the times you’ve broken
you thought you were at your best.
Like stained glass
the pieces look better now
then they did before
Unfolded purple chrysalis,
spotted are the lilacs
with morning droplets.
Accenting my garden
where the sun, birds, and moon hearken
to a mortal’s burden in silence