My Night-time Poetry

Life is a garden 🖤

To dance under the moonlight as the time turns to midnight.
The world keeps on turning in all of these moments, but you don't.
You stopped spinning the moment you hit the ground.

The knife they stuck in you sticks out of the ground.

What remains of you is the blood you bleed.

Poisons to the touch. Rotten to the look. With promises of sunflower roses, but nothing grows in a rotten garden.

Each flower I lay, each fruit I grow, all of the plants I planted are gone. Swallowed down into the ground, you lay in.

You're slowly disintegrating with the ground, crumbling around you.

You hold onto anything. Keep it in your clasp in hopes it will save you, to keep you from falling.
But I'm not a parachute, nor am I a savior.
No one can stop you from falling.

Nothing can help you in your rotten state.

I've laid my last flower for you, grown my last hope for you, and planted the last effort in you.

It was always an end when I wanted the beginning.
Now I get my beginning with the cost of your end.

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I wrote this poem with my father in mind. Nothing can save him in his rotten state. He doesn't take care of his garden, and no one else will do it for him because that's not how life works. You can't expect to change if you're not the one putting in the work growing and blooming new flowers in your garden of life. If I plant a tree in his garden, I'll be forced to watch it rot and crumble around him. He's hopeless and nothing, and no one can save him but himself. It's his garden, his flowers, his fruit, and his life. Hopeless monster that does not deserve his beautiful blooming flowers that grow outside his garden.