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just a paper flower
with a fancy name.

in a world swooning over red roses and smitten over thorn bites,
a mere paper flower –
as if inherently to be written on and defined by strangers who
have somehow permanently printed on their twisted tongues,
"you are special",
"you are beautiful",
"you are-"

just a paper flower
with a fancy name.

in a world that rocks with screaming storms that tear dreams into the sickly smell of stale vines
a mere paper flower –
as if her veins don't impart  a lustrous longing to her scrunched eyes
– eyes that hate to look at her own frail, pale petals –
a craving
to not be scrutinised
by phantom skeleton stares,
to not be –

just a paper flower
with a fancy name;

for in the world swooning over red roses and smitten over thorn bites,
her dainty body fits into no lover's bouquet;
her only lust is the daily dew drops that yield to death on her skin,
her only love is the sins of the earthly soil that kiss her growing roots.
she breathes in the winds that draw blood  from her tender face with swift slaps,
she caresses the storms when they wail.

her dainty body fits into no lover's bouquet,
till all the red roses die.
when their withered scars start bleeding tears,
she might as well be
just a paper flower,
but nonetheless
a bougainvillea in bloom.

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the above art piece has been created by _flying_high_ , to complement the poem. if you like the drawing, please go ahead and show some love and support to the artist behind the colours.