I will gather myself
in a bouquet
and give myself away
sit on a table and wither and die
like flowers
and memories should

I'd tie a ribbon around my waist
if ribbons were for me
I'd crush the vase
against the floor
if I could muster the melodrama

instead I'll droop
a little more every day
and go brown around the edges
and start to smell
until someone throws me out

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