Angel’s eye (blue scorpion grass)

I wanted to ask you:
what is your soul
made of?
The flowers feel deeply ashamed
to the extent
they prefer to wither in water
after facing your heat.
Sunflowers
from the roadside
hang their heads
as if you were poison
if you stay around for too long.
The rest of the plants
have every reason
sinking  in the ground
if they didn’t know,
I took care of them
I snapped their neck.
What did I see
flowers
die in water
as in wine,
but I’ve never
before seen
a flower blossom
in the middle of a garden
assembled with ornamental plants
in an empty whisky bottle,
live off the tears
a little girl
once cried.

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