always

a bunch flowers dead in an orange juice can
cries wrinkled petals when I bump the table.
stolen from a grave I was passing. the dead
in the ground just mumble, the ones in my head
sort of respect the the silence.

fucking up, always fucking up... hence the flowers.
an offering for the chance of a small peace. a half-assed
kindness is better than none.
for shit's sake, you were already gone.
I guess it worked




.