Yourself?

My petals were pristine yesterday.
Budding flowers, with a hint of lavender,
A slight tingle,
Perhaps anticipation,
I'm uncertain.
But as my passion and yours mixed,
I could feel those blood red petals,
darken and fade,
wither and die,
And I hate you.
And then there's nothing left to hate.
Except to hate myself.

posted by Downhere. @ 1:35 am