A Boy With Roses

Butterfly

I rearrange myself like the elements

On the days everything is gloomy

The blood loss is captured

In however many bell jars

Two years worth of time would gracefully fit in

Little nuggets of gold

 

My constant thoughts are falling leaves                                                         

In a book of spells                                                                                                   

I edit myself and crave the taste of freedom                                                   

The needle is in the arm                                                                                 

I am loose ribbons of blue lake water                                                           

Finding my place                                                                                       

Flowing with subtle and delicate movements                                                       

Flickering on and off

 

In individual shades of iridescent colours

Moving and twisting with ease like cloud structures

My body\'s full of psychedelics

As light bends through the cracks in the trees

I am a hermit in slumber

Ballgagged with a string of emotions

My gut reaction sparkles with vehemence

Obsessing over imperfections

Sleepless nights of wondering

Pucker like taut and young skin

With no sense of direction

 

I want you and nothing else

I want to sink into your poetry

At the top of the hill

At the end of the world

The breeze combed my ruffled hair

The precious feeling of being alive

Pulsated through my core like an explorer

That had stumbled across a time forgotten

I am a boy waiting for romance

On the park bench

Sat, motionless, like a statue in a museum

Gazing at the city below as if I was the sun

All eyes were fixed upon me in that moment

The dog\'s paw ripped apart my red insides

Now I don\'t trust myself with a hot knife

I am more than the twilight

On the dark days

Coffee poured into the thunderbird

The tadpole of the cherubs remembered

In a pocket in the echo\'s memory

Impervious to the fog

The cornfields are haunted dreams

You will find the truth                                                                             

Soiled by the witches\' fox in isolation                                                           

With an endless drone babbling on                                                           

Scared of the possibilities                                                                                               

I glitter each time                                                                               

Frogs bleed lips in sync                                                                                                                                           

Ling clings to me like a spotted dewlap                                                                           

I am breathing but lifeless.