Buds that never blossomed;
Seeds that never sprouted;
Leaves that never danced down;
Tides that never surged forward.
Eternally kept cold and expectant
They lie in wait.
Thick, sweet smoke rolling languidly
Below the surface.
It is comforting, it is warm-
But it is poisonous.
Your soul may start to decay,
It may peel away like wilted rose petals.
But you do not care to watch.
A breath held in, subdued in fear
That someone might hear it-
Yet somehow it wants
Oh so desperately to be heard.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful?
