‘Genocidahlias’ she said…
When I asked which flowers were sitting on her bathroom window sill…
The nights had drawn in, and we were recovering from a long and relentless summer…
Too much heat for my liking - though at least it helped me earn those few extra bucks from deforestation, and incubate those eggs I had been experimenting on in my bedroom…
We sipped a glass of straw coloured Chablis - lovely… whilst witticising our thoughts on their wind-up war…
I remember saying, “the problem with the whole thing is they’re not set up for diplomacy the way that we are,” as we delved into our wild boar with lashings of viscous sauce…
Apart from the food, another smell fascinated me - drifting toward our table from the corner…
That dungeon of delight with its strange attraction shedding deeply perfumed petals to the floor…
“Genocidahlias… what a wonder, what a great mystery to uncover…
I thought about the creatures in my room that must have hatched out by now - that were probably, as we spoke - gasping for air under the glass containers… I know they’ll settle down; will soon learn how to breathe like I do - the way we will have to breathe in order to survive as a species…
Soon enough we moved onto the exciting prospect I could hardly bear to put off for a second longer… the subject of those flowers that were waiting in her elegant bathroom…
She told me that the medicine obtained from these flowers could keep many more societies in order than just our current little test - making things a lot easier…
She said, “you could even use it on your own little experiments you have over there in your corner…”
I said to her, “I do believe that will be necessary in order for us to obtain and keep our natural world order, and no matter what happens to us - our size will come out thriving as we pass on our fast-take beliefs, blistering through this planet’s thin skin and savouring the top’s sweet skim…
Cut to a long time later… I’m addicted to the medicine…
I think I might have lost people I know but I can’t remember…
I’m close to freezing, but at least I can still recognise the steely taste of power…
I know it’s in those flowers…
But they won’t stop tasting sour…
I try to think of the first reason those flowers smelt so good… it was because of my conditioned scent for blood, my tough upbringing into the frame of good…
But there was something else that tugged…
A sense of purity that had gone from me; perhaps even some kind of sorrowful forgiveness for the things I had done...
Or a fire that would take me…
As I dream about this fire, I realise the scent is in fact permeating through the cold I have found myself in…
Suddenly, I remember the real name of those flowers… Gazanias - how could I have forgotten…
I stumble to see one growing right under me - fast and free - and realise that its name perfectly reflects its warm, fire-like, unwavering presence…
The truth gets to me - as I feel a terrible wave of dark consume me…
You can’t treat people like property - numbered growths for aimless experiments…
I think about this deeply - pondering…
In the end - I must admit that I am wrong, after decimating this earth to a lifeless song…
Now this flower stains my vision and haunts my heart, and I can smell just how strong it has become as its burning, sharpened sweetness tortures my tongue - its wound vast and open - and I realise that what I tasted before was a sugarcoated drug…
So I’m here to tell the truth now from this stolen ground I shook…
I am the hellhound - they are the dove…
With their glistening warning of love; full of wild, vivid, wondrous colours that directly embody the light of the sun…
Oct 9, 2025
Oct 9, 2025 at 3:07 PM UTC
‘Genocidahlias’ she said…
When I asked which flowers were sitting on her bathroom window sill…
The nights had drawn in, and we were recovering from a long and relentless summer…
Too much heat for my liking - though at least it helped me earn those few extra bucks from deforestation, and incubate those eggs I had been experimenting on in my bedroom…
We sipped a glass of straw coloured Chablis - lovely… whilst witticising our thoughts on their wind-up war…
I remember saying, “the problem with the whole thing is they’re not set up for diplomacy the way that we are,” as we delved into our wild boar with lashings of viscous sauce…
Apart from the food, another smell fascinated me - drifting toward our table from the corner…
That dungeon of delight with its strange attraction shedding deeply perfumed petals to the floor…
“Genocidahlias… what a wonder, what a great mystery to uncover…
I thought about the creatures in my room that must have hatched out by now - that were probably, as we spoke - gasping for air under the glass containers… I know they’ll settle down; will soon learn how to breathe like I do - the way we will have to breathe in order to survive as a species…
Soon enough we moved onto the exciting prospect I could hardly bear to put off for a second longer… the subject of those flowers that were waiting in her elegant bathroom…
She told me that the medicine obtained from these flowers could keep many more societies in order than just our current little test - making things a lot easier…
She said, “you could even use it on your own little experiments you have over there in your corner…”
I said to her, “I do believe that will be necessary in order for us to obtain and keep our natural world order, and no matter what happens to us - our size will come out thriving as we pass on our fast-take beliefs, blistering through this planet’s thin skin and savouring the top’s sweet skim…
Cut to a long time later… I’m addicted to the medicine…
I think I might have lost people I know but I can’t remember…
I’m close to freezing, but at least I can still recognise the steely taste of power…
I know it’s in those flowers…
But they won’t stop tasting sour…
I try to think of the first reason those flowers smelt so good… it was because of my conditioned scent for blood, my tough upbringing into the frame of good…
But there was something else that tugged…
A sense of purity that had gone from me; perhaps even some kind of sorrowful forgiveness for the things I had done...
Or a fire that would take me…
As I dream about this fire, I realise the scent is in fact permeating through the cold I have found myself in…
Suddenly, I remember the real name of those flowers… Gazanias - how could I have forgotten…
I stumble to see one growing right under me - fast and free - and realise that its name perfectly reflects its warm, fire-like, unwavering presence…
The truth gets to me - as I feel a terrible wave of dark consume me…
You can’t treat people like property - numbered growths for aimless experiments…
I think about this deeply - pondering…
In the end - I must admit that I am wrong, after decimating this earth to a lifeless song…
Now this flower stains my vision and haunts my heart, and I can smell just how strong it has become as its burning, sharpened sweetness tortures my tongue - its wound vast and open - and I realise that what I tasted before was a sugarcoated drug…
So I’m here to tell the truth now from this stolen ground I shook…
I am the hellhound - they are the dove…
With their glistening warning of love; full of wild, vivid, wondrous colours that directly embody the light of the sun…
