The Death of Flowers

The first time I met someone, they planted seeds into my lungs.
With every text and hello
With every smile and wave
Every glance and every call
And with every look, the seeds began to grow.

Every conversation, the roots grew deeper.
They were buried deep into me now.
As the compliments and flirting began,
A bud began to develop.

When his lips touched mine, the flowers bloomed
The flowers were beautiful, inside and out
Soon they began to make it hard to breath, despite their allurement
I decided to deal with it, blinded by the beauty each flower held.
Paying no attention to the ugliness of the individual petals.

Every hug watered the flowers and kept them growing,
Every “I love you” was a gust of fresh air that constantly blew the flowers in different directions
The smiles and laughter created the sunlight that was too bright sometimes, but pitch black at others.

But every fight was like a stormy day
With every negative comment, a lightning strike came close to the flowers
Nothing could get to the roots.

One day those flowers died.
Now death is constantly in my mind
The dead flowers sit in my lungs, weighing down my chest.
Now I see the texts and my flowers grow heavier.
He had kissed my lips
He realized before me that the flowers grow older.
They became more dead to him,
but the feeling was still as alive for me.
Thinking maybe if I ended it, I could take the flowers out.

Now I miss the flowers when they were bright
Now I wouldn’t mind them barricaded my chest,
I wouldn’t mind the incapability to breathe now.

Every flower was a memory.
Now all the memories to him are dead,
but I still have to remember them.
It pains me.
The flowers grew thorns before they died.
The flowers died,
but didn't go away,
and the thorns
will never die.






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