you caught me like a bunch of roses
thrown from a bride on her wedding day

I once dreamed to be wed in white.
Angles gleam, as I pure as sunlight.
Oh but temptation surely put up a fight.
One that drained all my might.

The darkest cloak will drape around.
Dead flowers and fire for the fate i’m bound.
Tis not a dove but a crow that sound.
Yet there be not a regret found.

Hear the bells of death ring.
No care for sin feels a wonderful thing.
The touch he gives enough to unclip my wing.
A hymn of death i’ve forced the choir to sing

I dreamed once to wed in white.
Though now it will be darker than night.
For the grace of sin is quite the sight.

the white lace dress hugs Her slender body
on this special day. welcome, all guests, to
this morning’s ceremony. we are so
thrilled you could join us. we are here today
to celebrate you. your contributions,
your impact. your footprint. do you know that
you are here to proclaim your affection
and commitment to Her? are you willing
to confess your love and protection to
Her? your hands begin to tremble, like when She
strikes the ground. you scoff, “yuck, ***”, not
knowing the truth. She woke in the hum of
june, broke a sweat, but felt a haunting chill
swim down Her spine, a crashing - a total
consumption of life. in the morning light,
can you see it? can you see the shape of
Her belly? can you see the shape of Her
pain, as she clings to Her life, scared, so scared.
holding Her stomach, cursing the wind on
a windless day. you will commit to a
lifetime of puffy eyes, fevers, meltdowns;
waking in a sweat, (but not your own) you
will hold Her hair as she coughs up the
most apologetic garden of words;
you will rub Her back as She weeps, calling
out, asking why bad things happen to good
people. no. She is so much more than you
or i. She has constant evergreen love –
“never dies” they will say, until they find
themselves digging Her grave. Everyone’s grave.
will we pile in together, like a
landfill? we’re wasteful, weren’t these things made
for waste? isn’t that what we are? a waste?
she exhales, and quickly whispers, “no”
She wipes Her eyes. She clears Her throat to share
how happy She is to have you. happy.

“do you take them to be yours, forever?”

(forever: until i die. until i
die for them.)

confidently, Her: “i do.”

“do you take Her to be yours, forever?”

(forever: until you **** Her. until
you **** Her. aware of your impact, your
footprint, you know what happens.)

You: “i do.”

“you may now kiss the bride!” – as the sun shines,
you close your eyes and lean in, and then you

wake up. break a sweat in the bitter cold
of december. this is quite far from a
celebration. it’s a nightmare, and your
hands tremble. uncontrollably. but this,
Her wellbeing, Her safety, Her life, this
you can control. what made you believe you
couldn’t? celebrate Her. apologize.
hug Her like the white dress. sincerely.

Pegasus I’ve found him. Tropical odds. Beating death. Immortalized in picture.
In love, nobody ever gets the person they had spent dreaming.
It’s horrifying. And the insecurity that comes with love.
A hellish experience.
Love had always been portrayed as innocent. Fine, your past is something to mourn over. Parting from it. Love demands that one’s past is forgotten. Present now, parent to the future. It’s an experience now to be explained.
Poetry for comfort.
Glances, eye glare, a flare. Flushing eyelashes. Not to be caught.
Is it actually dangerous to romanticize somebody? To be burden and pressed under love, is something I would rather have. Anything I would, if it’s the beat the feeling of feeling normal.
It’s a emotional waterfall. A change of shade. Alluring and seducing colours. Love is addiction. With the urge to carry on, despite not holding the courage to do so.
Oh poetry, lyrics to leave anyone spellbounded. To be in love, is to be hellbound. Rather all that brewing feelings now, to love passionately, as if forever exist. Desirous of thee, at all times. Kissing lips, swapping souls. An extension of one’s character. The critic. The caregiver. A lover. Oh poetry, how match distance have you missed the mark of accurately describing the experience of love. Still you raised to place effort to motivate. To provide belief that it actually exists and that love doesn’t belong to you.
For I’m ready to give up any earthly thing, desire, success, friend or family for any moment of love in hot and wild times, leaving traces of tender spots.
The results of love, will always be something no-one determines.
From somebody unexpected and never asked for.
At random.
Outside of one’s daily life.
The harshness of avoiding the acceptance of it,
Harder than reality.
Love is everything of prosecutor. Condemning sin.
It’s a sweeping in historical fashion of providing something more than any human purpose.
I get the poetry everywhere I go, I bust the poet open and take all his poems, I’m still claiming romance, till the day I die.
As for anyone standing outside, in the coldness of rain,
was the lack of love from no lover worth it, for the life you’re living?
Why I love thee, is something I’ll never know.
Cry now? What for?