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