Roses are Red

Roses are a forbidden kind of red,
one that leaves thorns in a wanderer’s head
sullen and sinned for wanting things to begin.
every glance she gives would redden one’s skin.
see, who could resist these kisses to the wind?

amid, the wanderer’s heart then falls apart,
rooting for a bloom selfish in art, knowing
eventually wanders end when summer departs.

Risen in principle, risen in past,
every petal would leave a lasting mark. So
dance through the seasons, and leave nothing dark.


IMG_6101.JPGThere are people we shouldnt fall for. But we fall anyway. And halfway through we kind of stop running away from it. We kind of just flow.

Dancing in Anxiety

I wanted to test the perimeters again. I have this insubstantial thinking that if I get to go through this once, if I can just hold up till the night ends, then maybe the perimeters of my anxiety would incoherently expand.

Only it didn’t. I guess I should have taken the hint from my hand trembling just as we went inside. The hand I tried my best to hide. Now I’m stuck in wait for the terrible to take place.

But there is something about careless crowds in loud music and bright lights filling glasses of gin.


Im glad I went but I ain’t ever clubbing again – post anxiety is not worth it