📍🎸❤️💄

Pink-a colour of aesthetic, sweetness and kawaiii, certainly not just a colour that is beaten up, pink from its sores, pink from blood loss, pink from pain. Pain is from pink.

There is always the talk of the heart and never the eyes- The heart is biased, but never the eyes-they are always right. Even when the answer is not.

I look at you and see you looking not at me but us. Us.

And every rose made me bleed the same whilst your herbaceous gardenia tends to the bloodied mess.

Black sheep who was not worthy of the crown, black sheep who coloured grass green and wiped tears clean. Black sheep who fought wolves at night whilst the flock slept tight. Black sheep who was clearly loved the most, and left to rot quite close. Black sheep who was I, and I resonate why? Black sheep was all but white-and white all but plain.

Hiding under the stars so that you don’t see my craters, which are filled with dried tears. Careful who you curse upon, there are wishing stars and I may as well be one that crashes upon your twinkling soul.

All that exists hangs on by a thread. Thick and long, it extends to the craters and deepest demarcations of smiles and cries. Indecisive? well, we are all technically allowed to pursue a scissor or a needle.

I recall a hyacinth who chooses to disclose her petals. Scorned upon and belittled, she refuses the sun, and savours the moon-whom sighted thorns. Light caves in when all is desolate and dark, so she said, I said.

Did it desire to be burnt by such warmth, gratitude, acknowledgment? Did it feel it’s fingernails being ripped off by the same hands that did nothing but offer and give? Did it become malignant? Did it recoil in tears? Did it? Yes, it did.

How could we forget, all that was remembered. And remember all that needed to be forgotten. A spade of hearts may dig up anything but worms and soil.