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lilacdom08Poems
I cup a paper likeness in my hand A flower, you say, but it's dusted In prussian blue that stings my eyes The colour of the end of movies, twilight Mirrored in the smoky Thames How can it be a flower? It doesn't breathe I call it an onion It spreads its biting petals out in agreement A reminder of what it is to cry Halfway through a song even though I've only just finished laughing Alcohol will do that You name it "flower" After your mother's smile, perhaps, Or the gentle drift of lightning In a summer storm, but to me It is only a vegetable, round, familiar, Painful with nostalgia, not saccharine With some aesthetic pinterest sentiment I grab a stranger's cigarette **** Litter the paper creation with ashes, watch The silky tissue wither Like blind marble turning grey with age This is what I think of your flower How can you be happy, hang it on your wall It's so thin, so bitter and dead Where is the romance? Confusion rises with the fire How can you be happy when this is fake The warmth ****** my fingertips I stamp it out just in time on the street Look, the paper It's crumpled This is what I think of your flower This is what I think of your happiness.
0
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
fleur bleue
I cup a paper likeness in my hand A flower, you say, but it's dusted In prussian blue that stings my eyes The colour of the end of movies, twilight Mirrored in the smoky Thames How can it be a flower? It doesn't breathe I call it an onion It spreads its biting petals out in agreement A reminder of what it is to cry Halfway through a song even though I've only just finished laughing Alcohol will do that You name it "flower" After your mother's smile, perhaps, Or the gentle drift of lightning In a summer storm, but to me It is only a vegetable, round, familiar, Painful with nostalgia, not saccharine With some aesthetic pinterest sentiment I grab a stranger's cigarette **** Litter the paper creation with ashes, watch The silky tissue wither Like blind marble turning grey with age This is what I think of your flower How can you be happy, hang it on your wall It's so thin, so bitter and dead Where is the romance? Confusion rises with the fire How can you be happy when this is fake The warmth ****** my fingertips I stamp it out just in time on the street Look, the paper It's crumpled This is what I think of your flower This is what I think of your happiness.
my subconcious wrote this I have no idea what it's supposed to mean
#blue#flower#paper#fake#thin#bittersweet#sad#happy
lilacdom08
Written by
lilacdom08
18/F/London
Aug 3, 2019
Aug 3, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
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