the language of flowers is lost on me

i pray that flowers do not attempt to thrive in your presence

in fear that they would wilt

turn black and blue, bruised from the insides out

when the darkest of your fury tears their petals into pieces


and i, a lesser form of life

i do not know how to ride with the waves

or how to walk upon the cracks littered on the dry ground

my ribs tremble in my gentle grip

i hold my breath as you step on the tightrope between okay and not

then, i stop growing, i lack colors

i have always lacked the vibrancy that exist in still butterflies

the light that burns from fireflies

i stand still in hopes of providing air

but still, i have no function in this breathing world of confusion

i question –

have i ever lived, or have i been living within a feverish dream?


i pray that you do not attempt to thrive in my presence

in fear that you stop gasping for oxygen

that your lungs stop expanding

when the dullness of my mind falls on your veins



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