lilac lives another day

not well-received, she walks away. angry, almost explosive, she lets out a shriek. it's everything to me, she weeps. everything to be believed. she nearly doesn't survive the encore, yet alone she stands, parasite-stricken, broken heart, shaking hands. she makes her demands. she becomes floral, adorned and ornamented by the passions of They, the comfort of They, the security of They. she waits there, among they, humming about her days with you, remembering but not recalling you, with your broken hand (which she couldn't give back). she gets home safe. she stays awake. she doesn't sleep, she just waits.

Binary

My crime of passion, you are me seeing red.

You are not the world, you are the axis on which it spins.

My every other word, you are the filaments between the fury.

You are not the supposition, you are everything that’s real.

My darling conviction, you are the heart of will.

Paint (my worst work in YEARS)

You are indescribable, yet
You are all I've ever known.
You are as simple as a smile.
You are a heart entire, of which I have two.
You are years beyond my reach, yet
You are here for me, in my unforgiving state.
You are the grapevine, threading yourself into my soul,
You are the grapes I pick to perfume my moments.
You are elevation, elation, everything that starts with e.
You are what makes me happy, and
You are something I may never have.