Feeding the Flowers • Lily Duquaine

all looks different when leaves are still gone yet the weather becomes warm.

i sit alone because alone is how i can think.

i get scared in this mindset,

for i am impulsive,

yet afterthoughts abuse me.

it was there among the woods that we spoke of relapse and rehab.

he is now gone and i am still here.

it was there among the meadow that i rotted away to skin and bones to feed the flowers that were more beautiful than me.

i now realize that i am a flower,

although i feel like a weed.

it was there among the old oak that i dreamt of tying rope,

thick neck finally thin as a skeleton hanging.

i just wanted to feed the flowers.

but i am no food.

i am a poison who must remain in contact with herself.

i sit on rusted metal with rusted blades because i need to remind myself of the toxicity of my blood.

if i die, i rain.

if i rain on the flowers, they die.

these afterthoughts eat at my mind.

 

 

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