Dead Flowers
A Poem by Grace Simmonds
Do not forget that the flowers she buys you are dead:
they are wilted, a brown shade of decay. You have nothing to say
as she presses a kiss to your forehead –
an apology for being misled.
Misled? You must try (do not cry) to remember that
the flowers she buys you are dead:
they are a sweet distraction instead,
(never an apology)
as she presses a kiss to your forehead.
But the kiss is so nice, your cheeks turn red.
(No. Remember what she did.)
Do not forget that the flowers she buys you are dead.
Close your eyes and dream of everything you never said,
(do it now, right now)
as she presses a kiss to your forehead
and flutters her lashes. She looks so pretty. (No). See the bloodshed
and let yourself get angry. Open your eyes and
see that the flowers she buys you are dead,
they’re telling you that nothing’s there. (Listen to them!). You misread
the situation sweetheart. It will take everything in you
to remind yourself that the flowers she buys you are dead
as she presses a kiss to your forehead.
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