My heart, a hotel for the lost a halfway house for the abandoned a motel for the destitute a caravan for the traveler My heart, has long since forgotten itself shards of abandoned love pierce its flesh forgotten tragedies play melancholic symphonies an orchestra of the undesirables my ribcage haunted by cacophonies of sweet memories My heart, a wild creature howling at the full moon searching for its home but for now it remains a grand hotel for the lost
My rib cage a ghost ship where once a soul resided. Haunting of past loves come like spirits in the dark crevices. Creaks on floorboards where once the footprints of others ladened the hallways. Paintings of forgotten memories hung askew on the walls, nailed in by love and hurt, and worn over time. Tattered sails adorning the mantle, as the wind plays a melancholic soliloquy sounding through the surface amplified by the unnerving ocean. Below deck there are holes seeping water, but afloat this ship stays. Its compass misplaced and its true north long since forgotten. It merely steers with the currents, and the winds of change. From time to time lanterns are lit, and a warm glow is emitted to even that of the decks. And such is the mirage of this ocean, where the foolish hearted reside. This ghost ship in search of its long lost treasure, this rib cage in search of its long lost soul.
These flowers were supposed to still the withering
While I withered,
they were to blossom
Maybe I grew jealous
So I drowned them
And drenched again
They withered, I wither
I used to call my withering, “my annual moment”
When my throat throbs with tears held back in public,
the inability to cry in private
When comfort is binging
and binging makes me wither
Withering is no longer annual,
it is inescapable reality
Where I drown and drain, drown and drain
These flowers- like me- are tired.
No need for water.