I collect flowers and I hang them to dry
Day and night, their bloom fades by
Whenever I see something pretty, I grab it
And put it up in my room to store and lock it
To put it away forever and ever
So no one can have it, never ever
I was out one day, like all the rest
Skipping through the bramble, my heart beating through my chest
I never realized, not even once
The flowers I collected, for months and months
Weren't flowers at all but memories, in fact
Those memories I saved, piece by piece, formed stories to distract
To hide the pain of living and life, when it became too much to allot
It comforted them, but of whom, I knew not. But this I knew for certain:
Whosever memories those were, they seemed to hide behind the curtain
While others danced and twirled around,
They simply sat about and wound
Themselves up so tight
Not another soul could set them alight
Except for those flowers, I had collected from them
Those were the only ones that could unleash their inner gem
But then I stole it — nay borrowed it — for another helpless soul,
Just like them where instead of a heart, laid a deep, dark hole.
