in a room sits a man with a sunflower
there is nothing else in the room, he has
plenty of space to move around
but some days, it feels much smaller
he sits on the floor with his sunflower
and just watches it, his life is best
when he just watches it
there is one window, always shining light
for the sunflower to follow,
as sunflowers do
every so often, the man hides the sunflower
maybe he is bored, more likely scared
he puts it in the corner,
in the closet
anything to keep it away from the sun
he will remove layers of his skin
so that he has something to cover the window
anything to keep the light out of the room
his head buried in the ground
his eyes too red to read
what would he read, anyway?
curled in a ball, he sleeps in the corner
hiding
it takes time
but the sunflower again
finds its way back to the center of the room
it begins to grow again
it continues to follow the light
as sunflowers do
sometimes he wakes up and notices,
and a smile breaks the crust on his lips
he sits with it, brushes the pedals and cries
sometimes things are good
sometimes he is okay with it
but we on the outside of the room
we wait
until the light under the door disappears
until he again suffocates the sunflower with darkness
each time, the flower growing closer to death
i don't know how to make him stop,
but i wish the flower would just die