i am a lost soul
an avant gardener
sowing seeds of
succulent depression
blossoms of vibrant
purples and grays
that drip milk
like poppies with
an extra kick of madness

i am a protector
an avant gardian angel
shielding my loved ones
behind tar black wings
a briar thorn crown
of cluster headaches
keeping happy thoughts
outside the ring of
light cast in waves
from my ultraviolent halo

tiptoeing barefoot
through fields of
avant gardenias
kicking up a shower
of petals to slice
through pretense like
a thousand hot blades
through the buttery
disambiguations of
self perceptions
leaving the bloody
corpse of creativity
quaking in my wake