Mortal Blooms

Take these flowers from before me.

They are good for nothing.

Remove them from my sight!

These tear-smitten love growths.

See how they droop and wilt in my hands?

I will rip off their soft, pink deceptions.

Their faded hues hurt my eyes

with honest lies.

I want to behold some monstrous nosegays

sick of adorning the pale stem of scented finery.

Hate embellished roses, that’s what I want to see.

Bouquets of long-suffering flesh petals

blood-stained.

That makes the senses recoil with their pungent wind-sprays.

Mutated orchids disdain the garden.

Blooming in gaudy defiance from the trash heap.

Unplucked

they vomit forth their foul gushings with stifled breath.

Graceful in decay.

They shoot forth with lilting smiles

like the houseplant

cursing the hand that nurtures.

Blessed in uprooting.

Becoming more glorious when cast away.

Refusing life in tragic colors

that beautify

the dust where they lie.