There’s a flower that lives in a room of my house.
At day it stands tall, taking in all the light. But its pedals shrivel up and its vines lash outward, in the darkness of night.
At dawn I’m awaken, by its heavenly perfume. At sunset its thorns whisper tales of my doom.
I live in fear of its poison, but I can’t resist her sweet smell.
This flower and I are prisoners in our own little hell.
Oh flower of mine, which of us will go first? Will your poison stop my heart; or will I leave you withered and dying of thirst?
I’m not sure how we got here, oh flower of mine. But I know that for some reason our fates are entwined.
It’s been so many years now and your last petal has fallen. Only vines are left now, and the darkness is calling.
With a hatchet and torch, I open your door, one final time. As only one of us can live here, oh flower of mine.