I.

He has a habit of picking flowers
and putting them in waterless vases

He plants poppies and marigolds on his bedroom floor
Nettles grow where his feet fall

He becomes another bloom
Without sun nor rain

He lies down in the green
Withering

II.

When he is happy
It feels like I'm putting my tongue to a 9 volt battery
He rushes through my veins
Shocking my system
Sparking me up like a cigarette
Giving me energy I've never known

When he is depressed
It's like drinking battery acid
His kisses spill darkness into me
My body attempts to filter the black tar
Leaking from his lips
There's a heaviness that doesn't go away

It lingers in my chest as he does when he's happy
Tiny flower buds atop
Little floating feathers
Growing
Tickling
Filling me up

When he is sad
They do not float
6 tons of flowers and feathers still weigh the same as 6 tons of steel
Crushing
Crushing
Withering

III.

My love lies bleeding
Among the green sprouting around him

You cannot purge darkness
Into porcelain with fingers down your throat

How am I to pull these weeds
Fighting the vines twisting inside me, whispering

"Lie down beside him
And wither too"