the boundaries of the sunflowers
—
before I had become acquainted with a world outside of my childhood,
I lived in a reality that pursued no boundaries, a world that was completely my own to delineate.
I'd spend my days in the field near my home where the sunflowers grew in an abundance and stirred delicately when a breeze spilled over the day.
I soaked up the sun's warmth like a sponge does a soapy water solution, and it got to the point where the sun was my very own life support machine.
I'd never pick any of the flowers that bloomed, I couldn't bare to subject them to such a programmed death, but if I was lucky, I would come across one with wilting petals that could easily be collected, and sometimes I couldn't stop myself from plucking the ones that fit in my hand so nicely.
I chose to use the corpse of these flowers instead of bows to decorate my golden mane.
YOU ARE READING
dozy
Poetryi told him "the words come naturally" he said "maybe in a past life you were an extraordinary poet"
