Hell is a garden
That dares me to pick a flower.
Cursed with a mind,
A will.
They don’t understand themselves.
So how could I?
It would be easier
If I could choose.
but limited
I pick what I am given.
Bluish orchids cloud my judgement
Greenish palm tree leaves,
Forced me
to talk about a sprouting,
made-up future.
Red petals from
Red velvets
delight my appetite
And let me hunger
For more soft,
warm flesh.
Hell is a garden
where blossomed ripped out
flowers dissolve
between .your fingertips
Got to
Rub my hands in ash
to pluck the flower
that is meant for me.

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