swevens of vernorexia

primula

    
   
    
    
    
   
   
    
   
    
– i will bloom a spring of my own.
   
   
   
   
   
   
    
    
    
    
winter winds brought with them,
the wilting of flowers that i once had bloomed in spring,
a spring that flourished a blooming garden of carnations in my heart,
a heart, oh my heart,
that i silenced in salvation of your love,
a love that i so very much wanted to water with my blood to bloom the reddest of roses to show you what you made me feel.

i set up a blanket of my vulnerability for you,
and waited, but what had you come with?

winter.
with winds that howled me in the face to present your unrequited love that left my garden of a heart in ashes of my own carnations that i bloomed for you.

my blood flowed with no remorse of stopping for you had let not only my veins' dam free but of my tears too.

and now,

now here is where i sit with dried blood turning black,
not knowing what to leave and what to bring back,
was it something in you or in me that our love saw us lack?

alas,
i see you now in your autumn days from here as you wobble like those leaves hanging on a maple tree,
i see you wilt and look at me,
asking me for my water of a love to come back.

what you,
my love,
hadn't known,
was that;

i already have left that solemn spring,
and attained summer.
for if not in you,
i will find in myself,
my lover.