• deenae 9w


    the sun warmed the brown with it's yellow,
    as seeds of love began to burst into colours-
    gentle as the skin of tiny palms.
    each flower blooming with a memory;
    the sunlit area was now a growing garden
    in her mind.

    she collected the pretty flowers-
    few in hand, few in her hair,
    a souvenir of the beautiful eyes,
    the beautiful smiles-
    from the people around her.

    now she's in her gown, burning,
    in glowing streaks of orange and red.
    her garden is set on fire.
    catching one flower to another,
    the colours changed blacker and darker.

    she cries herself to sleep,
    she cries for the flames to cease,
    to preserve some part of her;
    to remember who she really is.