Petals in the ashtray

Did you know there’s petals in the ashtray and there’s nothing I can do about it?

I took photos, instagrammed them before but not now.

Funny how we only show the springtime

A never ending stretch of blossom scents and ice cream smiles

Disappearing out to sea and swirling into distant castles

A laughter pure like night Jasmine

Circling and diving fragrant beneath the waves

Ah happiness. Yes I used to be happy.

I remember how that was.

Waking to fresh pancakes and lazy Sundays of nothingness

Two feet with striped socks intertwined

Pillow creased skin and messy hair

Stroking horses in the park and telling stories.

didn’t everyone aspire to just that?

Just blissful.

A blissful pinnacle of perfection.

They say perfection is a pointed peak and it’s hard to stay.

Jostling for footholds and unbalancing each other.

Until down we tumble.

Hands grasping hands grasping hands.

Pulling away pieces of me and shards of you.

What became of us?

There’s petals in the ashtray and there’s nothing I can do about it.