I fell for it again goddamnit.
Your honey-sweet words intoxicating me with that all too familiar comfort. You hid the poison well. I drowned in your scent flowers that only served to cover the rot that never left.
Once I pulled back the roses, I thought I could take that rot away. Do what I failed last time.
But those roses were flags. The rot was just your way of tearing at me again so I would always come running back. It infected me like spores. Sinking into my skin.
And this time I have the antidote. I know what I should do. Kill the spores. Let the weeds take over the roses. Clean myself of the rot that took root in my brain.
But I don't know if I want to destroy something so horridly beautiful. Because even rot is alive.
YOU ARE READING
Flash Fictions
Contothis is a series of flash fictions I write whenever I get writers block on a main story or if I find a really interesting prompt. these are probably gonna be really random.
