Early on there comes a moment
When you realize that your sadness
Has charms like a hazy moon
And your poetry takes on a life
Of purpose
You pretty thing
You sad thing
Like a time-stop wilting flower
Fragile and temporal
Girls address you with tender voices
Your audience adores and respects your holy transience
Then…
There’s an age where the dark is no longer pretty
The joke has become sardonic and hollow
You cross into an arid land of hard sun
A life of cool nights hasn’t prepared you
Misshapen by the drug that sustained you
The empty air admiration on which wafted
The absinthe that glorified your countenance
In it’s pale, pale sheen
You are merely human
And you haven’t lived a day of your life
A dying flower sheds petals in glorious display
As it exudes the extent of its short life
A dead flower is loved by no one
An apology stuck in a clump of dry earth
SensibleUnsensible 
