I picked you this flower. Can you smell this sweet sappy, scent of love and empathy?

Or maybe you’re smelling the dying flower on the other side of your weakened frail body? I think you must be mistaken by the aroma of my pain. Or maybe it is your own? It can be deceiving.

This flower was picked from its stem and displayed in a ticking vase. Surviving on the liquid essence that is held captive inside this vessel. You are this flower, fragile but beautiful. How long will it take for your essence to run dry? As your petals begin to fall till there is nothing left but a wilted frame.

Can your hear deaths rattle from hall to hall? Does this not frighten you? As you lie in a bed of petals. Does the suffering entities on the other side of the vases glassy wall haunt you? For they are not worthy of death at this moment. But they will eventually.

Do you get a whiff of the distinctive odor of must and sanitizer? Is this a painful reminder of your bedridden figure? Another reminder that your time is ending. And that your petals are falling.

Can you feel the poison encased in your veins? Overbearing the essential cure, that is too mixed up in your soul to preserve you from wilting. I can feel your stigma. I cannot smell your nectar anymore, it is now your evidential pain.

Can you flourish out and touch my undying sorrow, and adoration for you one last time? As the light from your eyes fades to an unlively hush, and a glazed glassy stare. As your smile tears away from your soft face like tissue paper. For your liquid has fun dry and you have fallen into death’s arms. At last, do you feel at peace? You now lie graciously in a field of vibrant, delicious flowers. Without an ounce of pain. I am happy for you have been set free.

Today I can hear the wind howling for you. As their faces twist with sadness, as does my own. The wind is now hissing with anger from your absence, through the dim old oak trees.

We inhale the deceased in the air, Row by row. I can feel their bones crumbling, and decaying beneath my weeping feat. As I slowly drift towards you. I hope you can sense our warm, bright aura of love? That we have left engraved in this stone. Placed gently at your resting head in heavens acre.

Can you sense this posy of flowers, I left at your side? for they will never disappear. As I will always be at your side to nourish. I hope our pain won’t overbear the perfume. As it will fade with time, and the acceptance of this reality will come to an end. And you can once again smell that sweet, sappy scent of love anew. Like you did when this all began. You our delightful flower, are our catharsis because you are evermore infinite.

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  1. Hi Shawna. As we sat together today, we updated your post on my computer through a copy of your creative writing transferred through a Google Doc. This was because, you were unable to do this on your own computer. I have made this comment as a record of this update.

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