these flowers
were not grown with love
I fed them with blood
and now they hang from the ceiling,
glistening red with dew.

the glass is scuffed.
there was a bear here, last night.
she tried to break in
but I shot her,
and she unraveled

into millions of pieces
of colourful silk.
someone created this beast.
someone gave her a name.
and I ended her life.