The flowers come delicately wrapped in crisp, decorative paper.
Their colors spraying out like a glorious fountain.
A pristine ribbon binds them with an exaggerated bow.
An assortment of sensuality displayed much like an open casket.
Purple lilacs for new love.
Blue violets for affection.
Red roses for passion.
Their botanical lives short lived, plucked from the earth by a feverish hand.
An empty, momentary gesture designed to grab your attention.
Did it work?
The bouquet means that they don't hate you yet.
How does that make you feel?
As you stare at these beautiful corpses,
Do you feel happy?
Do you feel special?
Hopefully you do for the moment.
Buttercups for childishness.
Cyclamen for separation.
Petunias for resentment.
They all will soon wither away,
Along with the feelings attached to them.
If left unkempt,
The water will begin to cultivate bacteria.
Scum will cloud the vase,
And vibrant green stems fade to dullness.
Each petal that falls is one less interested in you.
Yellow carnations for rejection.
Orange lilies for disdain.
Monkshood for hatred.
Were the death's of these flowers
Really worth the trouble?
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Thoughts
PoetryA collection of mostly free verse poems and short stories. Sometimes it is nice to simply clear your head. *Trigger warnings: descriptions of disturbing themes such as: body horror, death, interactions with the uncanny, topics in biology, and suici...
