He folded into himself,
Like a crippling blossom,
Rose petals wilting,
and shriveling into his skin,
He had opened his flesh,
watching all of his petals,
rot and fall away,
And with each release of his blossoming rose,
they took with them a little of his scent,
He grew around them,
drowning them in his flavor,
These men, whose names he never saved to memory,
whose empty souls he never cared to feel,
And after this cold fleshy touch,
He would wash away their lives,
their short existence upon his dying flower,
Letting the water overtake their frantic lusty dance within him,
He soaked in this medicine,
feeling his body absorb its hot embrace,
the sanitizing liquid,
bloating the roots of his soul,
carrying life into his withered heart,
and thrusting fluid into his diminished bud,
And again he'd feel his petals
begin to unravel and grow around him,
painting red onto his canvas,
spreading him out like an open flower begging for sun,
Once the night grew over the day,
he would feel the familiar crave for empty love,
And again he'd lure the men arrogant enough to stray,
They'd pursue him like dogs in heat,
and one by one,
night by night,
he'd find himself
plucking at the life within him,
cutting along the thorns
that carve through his flesh,
while watching all of his petals
rot and fall away,
As he folded into himself
YOU ARE READING
Restless Things
Puisi"I didn't realize what damage heat can do To flesh so bare So I poured you out all over me Until I was undone And shaking But after the fire has gone All that's left is ash and wilted skin So now I know Better" -The Things You Left Behind (Poetry, P...
