I don't remember when I put the sunflower on my desk,
but the yellow has wilted into a decaying brown.
I can't recall if there was a scent, sweet or bitter,
and I won't straighten it back up from drooping down.

instead I sharpen the blades of the scissors in my hand.
maybe I should question myself with "what's this about?"
but it's no mystery to me and I watch it fall to the floor,
because you gave it to me, and I want you out.