Flowers died in my hands. I sugar coated my feelings so well that all other options were seen as a charade. The grass outside my garden grew a burning fire.
Water was used to quench my need for community. It was so foggy. There was so much smoke. So much water.

I don't grow flowers anymore. There is nothing around my neck. There is little burning grass. Soon I am sure it will surpass the lobby. Sugar coating feelings.

© Staircase