The smell of funeral flowers
Store bought, fakely scented
Has always made me want to hurl
Though I know it’s not intended
They are always there
With an evil, sickly sweet omen
Signaling a life that’s closed
And will never open again
Sickly sweet flowers
Like guards of a sadistic plan
Standing on either side of a room
Filled with tears, the short age of man
The scent coats the insides
Of you nostrils, of your brain
Till the very thought of smelling them
Makes your stomach swell again
Oh those flowers, those cheap flowers
Meant to be an act of kindness
Stand as an everlasting symbol
Of funerals, and those we miss
I should like these gifts
It seems like everyone does
So why do I abhor them
With a painful, incessant buzz
Perhaps it’s the memories they invoke
Of hours spent in silence
Looking upon faces
That have no more life left
Tears of the unbreakable
Shock of realization
Pictures of the once bright life
And the times that were forgotten
blaming the funeral flowers
present at every wake
cause the cheeriness that they attempt to bring
is a bloody, clouded fake
YOU ARE READING
In My Head
PoetryA collection of my poetry. there is no rhyme or reason between them, they are simply there because i wrote them and needed a place for them to go. i know, my grammar sucks. also, there will be updates whenever i write more poetry.
