Flowers

I like flowers,
any flowers,
especially flowers of yellow.

Flowers of yellow turn into flowers of pink.
Please, put the knife back in the sink.
It isn't easy to do,
no more easier to think.

Flowers of pink turn into flowers of red.
Please, just go back to bed.

Yes you love flowers but not upon your skin because those aren't fowers my dear,
Those are nettles and thorn's,
Leaving the hearts of other's torn.

Flowers of red turn into flowers of brown,
now they have been covered over
please go take a lie down.

Flowers of brown back to red then turn into flowers which grow inside your head,
Filling with your ears with noise,
dear these are roses and violets.
This what they are meant to do.
Faster and faster they sway in the wind,
the flowers of red are now spreading like a disease
although they are only an invasive species.

Flowers in the mind blossom into flowers of white,
honey please.
Don't go towards the light.

There are distance screams in the backround or is it just the wind winding it's way through the flower bed.

Flowers of white turn into flowers of black,
they were to late.
They couldn't bring her back.

Flowers are pretty but not upon your skin.