The petals, lovely as red violet gossamer sheets, tumble down The plant, livley as a deep red carpet, haunts us It whispers to me The petal hits the ground and the world draws one, collective, wistful, silent breath The thorns protrude like spears through a wounded man; with malice They warn me A sweet leaf crinkles a shade of brown no leaf should be It flits down My head spinning The leaf hits the ground and the dizzy pleasure is overwhelming
She cuts and gnaws and breaks through the stem. "Mommy will like it, Mommy will be happy" Mommy is happy, happy her daughter killed. The flower, in its last deperate gasp calls to me, it screams to me it pleads and begs then wilts The most beautiful corpse It hangs supended in the cage of one young girl's hand as its comrades continue to be uprooted, finding home in the mass grave of a crystal vase. What a funeral, all the family gathered around these warriors, yet the family ignores these limp soldiers. Then the next day, these majestic martyrs no longer seem satisfactory and their processtion of far off glory marches away, to the bin, where it finds home amongst bannana peels and last night's dinner
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