Today is the funeral
for a boy four years older than me.
Fifteen small years
of being the water for many different flowers,
fifteen small years
of being the water for your own pine tree,
Three small years of being the water for my dying jasmine bush.
I knew eventually you would run out of water
feeding so many plants
and when you did,
nobody fed you more water nor did they care,
I should have seen you were out of water.
You were dying right in front of me
but I was too dead to see
you were also on the verge of death.
YOU ARE READING
The Muse Of Nature & Incomprehensible Torture (poetry & prose)
PoetryThis collection of poetry and prose is all about my life, from the very beginning to very recently. It's a tale of my childhood, relationships of all kinds, all sorts of breakups, trauma, the ups and downs of being a teenage human, and the waves of...
