a daisy crown is resting on her ivory skull full of sticks, and she's dancing—she can't help it, the olive grass is chilled, and the sun is beaming over the glass stained river that flows near by,
and she's happy.
she hasn't been happy since the first of the month,
and her cherry lips haven't tilted into a smile of delights for what feels like a year,
the crown makes her happy.
she can't see anything else but the pool tide ahead,
spinning in circles leading to her (nonexistent)
future, she's blissful—and it's overwhelming.
though, the milky shade of flowers hanging by the thread of her hair is brittling, dying—but she doesn't notice (and she never will) she's distracted by the tricking water that's overflowing,
she reaches down, her finger dips in the clear (red) stream, she grins and the innocence seeps out of her eyes like golden wine before she can stop them.
the daisies are making her delirious with
innocent (sinful) thoughts of what she could (not) be, and the crown of flowers is making her happy (foolish).
her (dead) mother called her movements moronic when she was in her youth, but the (red) water soaked in her ears before she could listen,
is that why she gathered the daisies for her
tiara of heaven (hell)?
must be!
the angels weep as they watch over the
girl, the flowers are dying (but she hasn't noticed)
she's distant to the way the petals are beginning to rot—she thinks they are beautiful,
and the crown is making her foolish.
her lips taste of innocence as she skips through the glass stained river, her ivory weeds that stick to her brainless skull flow as she dances once more, and a
downy dandelion is in her grasp,
her eyes close and her sweet lips blow and
she wishes she can stay this happy.
she should have wished for the daisies to
to stay alive
(because once they drop
so
will
she.)
YOU ARE READING
deadly garden
Poetryeverything's growing in our garden you don't have to know that it's haunted POETRY BOOK
