Saturday, September 25, 2010


A flower is only yet a sin of a truth, only another kind. It's looks and appearances are deceiving. It may attack you at any moment that it wishes too. It sets forth a poisonous scent that makes nose hairs curl up, eyes made, are to water and cry. It brings death upon which no other can replace it or heal the wound that the flower has now caused upon the sorrowful soul. The lover just lies there in the dark and on the floor, their breath gets shallow as hours pass. If only they had not have accepted the sweet gift of as which that had given to them. May they feel free spirited to jump and slap around as a happy fool in love. Death becomes a toll and smells sweet to some that feed off of rats in the night. Let not dawn destroy them but by a flower which smells so sweet can taste so cold and rotten. Let it be naked and secret to the lover's eye.  - Michelle Shiflett

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