Wilted carnation
Just a reminder
It could've been better
Could've been kinder

It was most boastful of me to assume that I could be the one to fill your cup
to assume that no other flower could fulfill you in the same manner
who am I to assume that we don't look just as lovely in a vase
and who are you to compare a rose to a carnation?
one whose grace is affiliated with beauty itself
and another that bumbles clumsily along like that of a lost bee
in every flower pressed,
in every poem composed
I seem to grow more tired of describing this ephemeral love
I continue to saudade in pursuit of moiety
leaving myself in a state of perpetual hireath
but in full honesty, I don't mind you switching me out for rose here and then
though I can't help but ponder
if she holds the same warmth in your arms
as one does in mine
and as to whether or not I will always be a stand-in for the next lovely rose to come

-a blissfully ignorant stand-in, a carnation

I just woke up on a train I shouldn't be on
I'm stuck in this seat,
To the left there is no one
To the right, there is just my shadow

How peculiar to have a shadow when there is no sun shining through the train
The windows are tinted and the sky outside is murky
I can see the land around me is barren with no greenery

My legs are starting to ache from sitting so long and I feel a fiery rash spreading on my chest
the pattern is floral, like carnations in bloom
My chest is swelling up to my throat
Something is expanding in my chest, stretching and burning

Something familiar but foreign
And just like that a carnation bursts through me completely disintegrated.  In my lap I try to put the pieces together
Stuck in this seat I take out my mirror and look at the hole where the carnation lived

Deep inside, something the size of a petite ruby, little and plump was beating.
Louder and louder I could hear it in my ears,
the swelling is subsiding around my neck but I don't think I'll be free of this chair for a long while