The Song of Her Non Blossoms
She walks upon the seeds
That should have been planted
And cultivated as her life
Only small, dried, would-have-been
Blossoms all strewn along this dusty
Narrow path of stones and somber memories
Spiked with resolution
She picks up the non-blossoms
And packs them up in a pretty
Treasure box
She keeps it in the darkest corner
Of her closet
And remembers them each day
She chokes on them
And they cut her throat
With their hard to swallow truths
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