We as Humans

Hibiscus Tea.

Shades of dim
warm and sour
reminisce on rays
too blinding to still look upon.
Sweetness now faded
unrealistic
leaves brewing expectations.
Heat bleeds red
and cold bleeds slow
Bitter stains pure
cutting edge to beauty
raw and false
but beauty gives a bad aftertaste
and fades
leaving only dregs telling the stories
of the lies it took to reach here.
Color diffuses on cheeks
causing running trails
to a nowhere
spattered across clasped fingers.
The longer it steeps
the less subtle the lines become
between pain
and presence.
Porch swings and rumpled mornings
softly bathed
in rouge concepts,
distasteful,
that continues to be ingested
burn into lines
cultivated by a feeling of absence
falsehoods scrape at.
Medicine heals sores
and brings nightmares
but only one is thought to be well hidden.
Rhythms thrum sorrowful
as will dwindles low
and hours grow tiresome.
Because it was once enjoyed
it's repeated
until the process grows tiresome
and done for an unwillingness
to leave something once pleasant
for an unknown
hazy
lacking the saturation
familiar and uncomforting.
Something is always a little sad
about the smell of a candle
after it's blown out
and the taste of hibiscus tea.