Only Hollow Things Drown

Oh no, I have died again.

My body is breaking down
inside the hallow ground-
I can feel the soil,
clogging up my lungs
and turning my heart to gold.

I don’t know who killed me;
this time.
He was a coward, I imagine.
Who stabbed me in the back
then sent my mind below.

Dying is a crime
i’m well versed in.
I fell down and down
and over and over.

I hadn’t yet chose which way to die
not like before.

I found a bottle filled
like a rattle toy,
I had as a child
it emptied in minutes

Then He revived me and
then with a hollow cain
I killed him.

My hands now moving,
my blood is boiling,
my fingers print clawing up,

wasting a life.

Our synapses are hopeful,
pulling me into the air.
I rose up,
saw the tress
covered in blood
And walked away.

Don’t you worry, I will die again.
But that time better
More beautiful and
romantic.
Fall into the water and hopefully
the lonely moon won’t bring me back

again.

To us dreamers

We’re stuck in the moments
between today and yesterday,
like moths we are
drawn to the ultraviolet lights
that will burn our wings
stopping us from flying away;
letting us be free,
we’re dying in a false dream
filled with hope.

We sit in our surreal sadness
with diamonds for tears
falling so often
they’ve become worthless.
Is this happiness?
Children imitating our idols
lost at sea
praying they’ll come home soon
and write us lullabies.

What are we even for anymore?
To cry and muse on behalf of
The perfect past.
I promise you darling
we’re all very lovely
writing soliloquies to die for,
of our disastrously dangerous desires
that want to scar us
marking our unclean bodies forevermore.

We’re the scared dreamers,
little kids who grew up jaggedly
like flowers raised by an eclipse
that lasted a thousand years.
We can write words that make men cry
but our lives will fall apart,
the romantic symphonies
hiding our broken hearts
will burn us dead.

Wildflower

Baby I’m a wildflower who grew in your garden,
among the orchards and the snowdrops from the winter.
I was your lucky little weed.

A daisy whose petals you could pluck at
to figure out who you loved.
Dreamt with me tangled up in your golden grown.
Kept me on a chain, wrapped around your wrist.

Or maybe I was a dandelion,
you blew out into the wind
longing for something else.

But you wasted your wishes on a dream,
lost your breath on an unwanted thing.

Until I was gone