Her.

yet again my love has been a blind eye to a curse; still yearning for you though it is unhealthy and tragic

caramel.

TIRED. a verb described as exhausted; a state of being in this case though, i don’t mean eating a warm thanksgiving meal or a late night shower kind of tired

my body was a diary. it told all of my secrets.

my heart is strung

TW for blood mentions and implied s/h

my old garden was flooded; not a seed was left to start new

if there was a way my words could form the love song your heart has sung to me though chords would be full of glucose from the way i dream you taste and how your name calms my green jolly rancher tummy

i find my heart racing after flowers again though this time not for you could it be my flowers have grown too fond for someone else’s garden?

you took my heart and sunk it in my own boat

When i hear your name

i’ve run to the ends of the earth to find the best flower. for you. i gave you the most exotic and beautiful ones but you always turned away.

Today was the first day without you without your scent on the hoodie you gifted me at a time when you loved me Of which the sleeves are now coated with left over mascara smudged from my face with the cotton that no longer sits on my skin

i jump in the chaos that is your love to fight for the love that isn’t mine anymore what happens next? a downed bottle of candy without the label? if not the pale shellac coat that leaves me drowsy in my thoughts