Memories are fragile glass flowers.
The ones I kept in the vase with
Old water just to make them feel
You, the very definite reason those flowers
Still remain my coffin for regret and sadness.
Glass petals cold to the touch. Hit the ground,
They'll break into slivers and tiny prisms that
Cause blood to flow.
Like you, When you told me I was a shame to be loathed
That my depression was unbecoming. You couldn't handle
Me. Yet, Love smeared me on your lips every so often.
Regret wrenched eagerly at my heart, pulsing to it's last deep
Breath, I stare those poor glass flowers down to remember how
Little I tried to keep you.
The one last thing in my life that soothed the most unrefined part of me.