From my broken heart bled blue flowers grow.
Bright peachy roses and delicate white jasmine florish.
Vines through my veins, leaves in my lungs, blossums bursting from within my eyes.
Thorns grow from my doubt. Piercing my skin, digging deeper into my body.
The tourment of these spines are not new, my love, I have endured them before.
As the agony sinks in tears cascade from my eyes.
With each sob the flowers wilt and decay. With each tear my body fades.
I begin to choke on the foliage, coughing up those peachy petals, that sweet jasmine.
My chest compresses. I'm ensnared within a garden of pain.
As I choke, palms unfurling, begging for relief you appear, my love.
The pain and aching is silence by the the beauty before me.
Every breath comes easy, every second is slower, every wound is healing.
The vines loosen their grip, turning to ash.
YOU ARE READING
bloom.
Poetryhanahaki disease a fictional (emphasis on fictional) disease, where the victim regurgitates and coughs up flower petals when they suffer from unrequited love. The illness can only be cured through surgical removal, however any existing romantic feel...
