my lungs are full of lilacs

light purple

how your somber eyes look amber in the sunlight

i see another slip between my fingers,

the way your hair curls when you sleep on it wet

a flash of violet that i dread

as you laugh on my shoulder

i feel blood come up too

iron burns the back of my throat,

you crack up at an inside joke and i realize this will get no better

i spit long stems of fragrant blooms and i struggle for breath

a final heave of first love

I'm choking, flower petals fall into my hands. Blood puddled up, followed by more couphing. My hands stain crimson as I attempt to catch the petals and blood. Red dribbles down my chin and flowers break through the skin on my neck. Vines and flowers continue to grow in my lungs. Causing my disease to only worsen. Is this one sided love. Have you lost feelings for me.. Have I gone mad. My thoughts are again interrupted as a hack up more flowers. My chest is hollow.

if only my unreciprocated love
would cause me to throw up flowers,
you'd wake up to a garden and
see the beauty of the pain you've caused.

petals.
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.

petals.
petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.

petals.
petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?

petals.
petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.

slicing.
dicing.
dissecting.

petals.
petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.