happily discontent

when the sky breathes poetry through sepia-streaked silence, and the earth reclines, listening to the music of weeping wisterias~ blowing in the pulse of bleeding paradise, I swallow sizzling stars within cloaked scars, comfortably blanketed in self-woven wounds. while you, the prisoner of my past, keep revisiting empty journals, lacking crystalline colors of comfort. as crimson are the lines across pages of pain, and rhymes left unwritten~ stretching through margins of misery, like flowers blooming amidst rain, like fireflies flickering neon dreams, oblivious to the darkness that tastes like delicate storms, gusting with glistening grief, undressing dusks shivering in blazing frost… O tulip trinkets, echoing ballads of brokenness~ I ache to surf through crooning chaos in serene seclusion, away from the fickle wind and unseen waves, tortured by twisted tunes of twilight. I’ve long been the voice of love, unsaid, intoxicated on life’s whimsical woes~ a ghost of a wilted rose, robed in restless redolence, befriending demons within, as shadows too abandoned the healing chambers of angst, reluctant to sway to chamomile chimes of euphoric gardens where roots of ruins are watered with tanzanite tears… perhaps the moon was never mine to keep. and in this distant affair, I sing sparks of sorrow to the soul of salt-kissed sapphires, wishing the world could comprehend~ how peace is neither a lily nor a bird, but a weathered tree stuck in the forsaken sands of felicity, an eloquent ambience where I thrive in bittersweet solitude… remember me ~ when clouds veil saffron of the sanguine sun and the zephyr forgets my name, I remain the mistress, dressed in distressed diamonds, not a seeker of superficial lies glazed in greed and gold, I trace trembling chakras of torrents with ink and sighs, exhaling lunar-dust, like a maestro of yearning, perfectly flawed and unrefined, still healing ~ tied to the faded lips of an enlightened constellation…