The bottle had roses

The bottle had roses on its label
As if that were truly its scent.
But I know flowers, and this was anything but
More fruity, you see, than floral.
Perfume in a box, sent to my door
(Did you catch the pun that I made?).
I might not've seen it, and gone on with my life
If it hadn't tripped me and broken three teeth.
There wasn't a love note, there was no need
The sunlight slanting through the glass was enough.
I took it outside, to the back of the house
And threw it down as hard as I could.
The ground was so soft, the grass was so green
You wouldn't think the bottle would break
But it shattered on impact, such a crisp sound
And spilled fruity perfume onto black earth.
The shards still lie where they landed
Sinking down into the dirt.
He sent me perfume, but I don't even wear it
And he doesn't know who I am.

Untitled

Sitting thoughts coloring soft

Singing orange chocolately love

Angry communicate walking bumpy

Lime green sadness riding red

Sweet perfume peep music

People happiness texting fluffy

Coffee talking salty flowers

Sour kissing laughing videos

Jumping animals drinking spicey

Beautify yellow sleep steky

Tangy food exercise cooking

Lemonade black furry hard writing

Warrior Princess

No one knows where she came from,

this strange being before us.
To gaze at her
is to gaze at true beauty.
Her eyes, mesmerizing,
liquid gold and speckled copper.
Fall into their depths
and be scorched by their fire.
Broad shoulders and 
strength to match,
a true worrier stands there.
Her hair, melted chocolate,
flows over her shoulders,
faint auburn intertwined within.
A spirit roaring to be heard,
held within caramel skin laced with scars.
A faint golden glow
that only a pure soul can bear.
She, the warrior princess,
stood before them all.

Forest Ball

A scream bubbles within me

As I watch the skeletons dance,
Twirling,
Around the fire.

I stood, frozen,

Seeing smooth bones
Impossibly together,
A tribe that lives within the pine forest,

Shrouded in macabre secrets.

The sight was really something,
Sharp angles waltzing,
Hypnotized by the pungent reek of decay.

There was music too,

Or perhaps it was their chanting,
Harmonic whispers,
Just barely there.

I dug my toes into the dirt

And clenched my hands by my sides,
But was unable to resist
The urge to join them in their dance. 

Perspective

Doorknobs aged with the fingerprints of four generations

Windows shrouded in the shadows of our ancestors
Shingles trembling with the screams of the past
This ancient hut still stands
Despite the detrimental storms it has weathered.

It stands as a beacon amidst the identical condos surrounding.

A warm glow emanates from within its hallowed halls,
Unique against the harsh fluorescents of the clones.

The front lawn is browned from drought,

The gutters rusted from decades of fallen tears,
The crusted remainder of foliage litters the porch.
The fallen shack is an abomination
To the eyes of an outsider.

But peer into a knot hole in the peeling fence,

And you will find a lush meadow
Tranquil against the swaying willow
Serene against the koi circling the pond.
You will find no ragweed, nor crabgrass, nor thistles,
Nor secrets of any kind.

This cottage wears no mask,

No kaleidoscope other than the one you thrust upon it.

I Witness

The blackness was cold,

Surrounding his every move like a thick, abyssal cloud,

Swallowing him whole.

Threatened into paralysis,

He stood motionless against the blank wall,

Prohibiting himself from committing even the slightest blink

In fear that it may draw their attention.

They could return at any moment.

He knew he had to hide;

That in a few hours’ time the darkness would no longer provide the veil

In which he had disguised himself.

But his position was fixed,

His body still frozen from the events he had just paid witness to.

A mugging becomes more than a stick up

When it results in a gunshot.

A witness becomes more than an innocent bystander

When he is spotted.

He is now the prey of New York’s lion,

The Mafia.

He’s got but 4 hours until dawn

 

4 hours until his demise.

Auction Poem

I can't believe what humanity has come to,

this is just sad.
People these days,
they do everything half minded.
People of the future will look back at our time in shock,
their mouths wide open.
Or maybe they will look at us and say,
"why were they so modest?"
People of today do not realize a lot,
every action has a reaction.
Whether it is a positive or negative one is up to us,
in our everyday decisions