There’s a flower growing in the dirtiest of pits,
Rotting in the sewer,
Mildew seeping from the grate— untouched,
Bypassed by those who don’t stop to wait.
Buried,
A wisp of a wish— restless,
Hoping for halfhearted love,
To feed its hopes and dreams
Of rising above.
A prison,
Bound by looming eyes,
Leering down to watch it cry,
“More! More!”
While forever rooted in the floor.
A concrete jungle,
Monotonous walls encase its beauty,
Captive, as the seasons change.
You’re everywhere I look—
I can’t escape the photos we took.
This haunting obsession
I thought had passed returns,
sharp—
sudden,
like a looking glass.
We were happier then—
Kiss where ink and flesh align,
carved to summon touch.
Skip the space between my lips,
spewing oaths of love.
You feed me want— then starve me dry.
A feast of glances,
deep shades of black and blue
pressed time again
to withstand the pain of remembrance.
I pick and scratch,
until it becomes a scab, a scrape—
revisited and reopened
in the dead of night
Comments
I can't wait until you're a famous writer and I can brag about knowing you
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