A Certain Type of Decisive

United States

Just your unfriendly neighborhood disaster, bringing you bi-weekly updates from the bottom of my own shoe!

Message to Readers

Delicate things, like nuclear weapons and eggs, break under pressure, and that's how you know life is gone. Pressure turns life into stone, carbon to diamond, makes you hard. Get lost punk. You should have never come here.

Flower Chains

April 13, 2019


Flower Chains are what they call the children's links of delicate flowers,
Placed on their heads like crowns-
That could crumble with the wind.
Lost somewhere between Eden and the Abyss,
In the space between violin strings;
The playing has began to shake me more awake than I ever should be.
Maybe I am blind,
Or maybe just dumb.
The birdsong,
Does it make up for the freedom I lost?
My golden prison bars, 
Do they make this my home?
The buzz of honey bees, going places I never can,
Their honey will never be as sweet as wings-
Or at the very least, a stinger.
Handcuffed by clouds,
10,000 pounds of water;
Lightning dances on my fingertips
But I can’t tell if it tickles or burns.
Flower Chains, like laurel wreaths, a symbol of something won,
But for many more something lost.
Still, they crumble, like sand in the wind.
I was running from you,
But where can I go?
I said you were my everything, my world, my life,
Now there isn't anywhere left to hide.
Stars are beautiful,
But they hurt more than rose thorns,
I have felt both, 
I have bled,
I have burned.
Flower Chains are meant to be delicate-
But the Flower Chains that bind me are a little bit stronger.

Login or Signup to provide a comment.