If I end up alone, I’d buy myself flowers
And make them look like suns and glasses of wine
The little things would hold this great big power
But at the end of the day, they’d surely die.
So I’d dry them all up and hang each flower around
I’d separate the bouquet and keep each one alone
They’d make not a whisper, they’d make not a sound
It’s not their fault, it’s surely my own
That I’d make these flowers strangers
When once they were bounded by the lip of their mother vase
What a stupid little bout of danger
What a surely sorry water case.
Certainly you’d see, if ever my window you walked by,
The vase sitting empty, waiting for the next group of buds to pay their rent
You’d laugh, no, you’d cry
When you knew in an instant, that everyday flowers you surely would have sent
To the girl who couldn’t.
yours,
katie beth
