The aesthetic of 

Ink on paper

And floral words 

Leaving my cracked and bleeding lips

Calms the earthquakes

That tear through my fragile being

And wipes the waterfalls

That flow from these barren eyes

Better than anything else

In the late and early hours

When you are Schrodinger’s cat

More dead than alive

And the wilted words

That bleed from my wounded lips

Become rosy ink on crumpled paper