Flowers grow in the Spring and die in the Fall

What did you do to me that I cannot remove you?

Did you plant your roots in me?

Did you lay seeds in my body, so that every spring they bloom?

And then die every fall?

I’ve been trying to remove you from every last one of my fibers,

but nothing works.

I still find petals tucked away in my pockets.

I pick the seeds out from underneath my nails.

The stems poke my ribs while I sleep.

Stop visiting me in my dreams.

Let my heart rest for more than a moment.

Your thorns are making it bleed.

The blood, my blood, waters the garden that you left behind.