you never halt
in your prodigality.
immersed as a child
in watering a garden
of words you should
have left alone.
today they weigh
you down like gravity.

your agony lives
a life of its own.
stranded in this
garden with its
capable hands to
sow the seeds of
torment.
purple hyacinths and
white stargazer lilies
you paint black to
embed thorn marks
in fragile skin,
for death it's prone.

and you must not
know the difference.
for you were a child
and i am filled
with sorrow to learn
they have never told
you it's okay
to not give to
something that
takes away from your
lively innocence.

- water the flowers
of your soul instead
for they have never tried
to introduce you to death
before life has begun.