Concrete roses, like hearts.
Subtle, profound, profuse.
In shambles, in pieces, in me.

Escaped passages, marked in reversal.
I could care less over coffee, vodka.
Whatever.
Paper cuts dripping, sporatic, buzzing
amplifying their own discord.

Emotions strung together mindlessly.
A stream of dreams long lost,
relentless, unforgiving.
I am not disengaged.