I got flowers today,
We had a huge fallout last night,
He kicked me in the stomach.
For every night we fight,
I get flowers the next morning.
I’m sure the night I’ll die,
There I’ll be flowers at my bed or grave side the next day.
I told him to never get me flowers again,
But well, I guess this man just doesn’t listen.
He hurts me, and even in the process of saying sorry.
He hurts me still by getting me flowers.
I guess this is him doing what he knows how to do best,
To hurt!

Your vigilance would be you at my doorstep,
With words rather than just flowers.
My acceptance of these flowers
Is my approbation of the agony you inflicted on me.
It’s me saying “I forgive you”.
But how could I?
With my consciousness inebriated,
Wasted, left to be buried alive.
These doorstep flowers are the epitaph,
Engraved with marble on my tombstone,
Of no use to my already dead emotions.

By Mae & Omale Rex



1 Comment

  1. ada says:

    your writing✨❤️

    Liked by 1 person

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