Cherries blowing up like dark red balloons
and bursting with confetti at house parties.
Sweet sixteenth's and eager eighteens,
underage girls dressed up as barbies.
You see, it's all about numbers.
Like the amount of calories in a cheeseburger
or how many nappies for the baby, soon to outnumber.
Lies and excuses for short term friends
when family know how it's destined to end.
But isn't that the latest trend?
The cost of the newest labels to gain some popularity,
girls these days just need some clarity.
Chasing boys for love, though it's just a quick blow,
see those lips pucker up for a lifeless photo.

Wilted, dead roses.
Red velvet turned into dust.
Fake poses, filtered for comfort.
A life filled with lust.

Trampled on roses,
breaking at the touch.
Love loses every time,
shaking with fear and a blush.

Clouds drift against scarred wrists,
Lines and lines of never ending twists.
Paper people holding hands,
Sitting quietly in a plastic land.

Fingers brushing past
but never interlocking.
Their stems too scared to stand,
ignorant minds throbbing.

This town is garden
of weak petals.
Their creases dripping with blood,
people drowning in the mud.

We are living in a crumpled
up piece of paper.
Eyes thundering with vicious jealousy,
up to no good.

My dear, dear Karen,
only selfishly appreciated
and gorgeously barren.
This is my ode to you,
the angel i awaited
in the daydream we live in
with dahlia hearts
and the everlasting blue.

I was butter in his mouth
but I felt like cement.
Lady, there's a dog in your house
and it's teeth are bent.

I wrote a poem about my body,
it's everseeking refuge in me.
No harm has come to pass,
there was a time i ached for that
and in a way I still do.
I'm always thinking of you.

Lonely like Lazuli,
i haven't been
how i used to be.
Not been inspired
like i should be.
Not been loving
like you want me to be.

Lonely like Lazuli,
i lay in a pool of sapphires,
and i know i could
be much better.
I am something more
than sad eyes
and poetic suicide.

Cold feet in the lamplight,
wooden floor, cat prints.
Cola stained teeth scrape
to the bottom of the gin glass.
The taste of alcohol is too sickly.

Creature of the night,
blankets, locks on the door.
Crumbs on a plate start
to look like the content faces of
people who are never lonely.