digging graves

she told me
my heart
was a cursed
burial ground
filled with the smiles
of the most
beautiful women
to ever walk
this world
killed by
the fumbled inadequacies
of the messy fool
spewing
moribund poems
looking for the lady
with wildflowers
in her hair
never quite
present
never quite
right
a cardiac infraction
with every
freshly interred
extinguished
light of love
marked by roses
that snake through
the hardened arteries
from consuming
the poisons
of false adoration

she wasn’t
wrong
some days
i sit by
the graveside
of her smile
whisper my love
to the plastic blossom
wondering
if she can hear
my words
recognize
the truth in them
i am just
an amateur florist
digging graves
to make ends meet

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