Death is a carnation.

The smell follows you

Like a funeral procession.

Wafting fragrances of memories

You no longer wish to hold.

Sometimes,

I don’t.

I push it away.

Yet the bouquets rain down.

A sequence of trap doors,

These unforgiving eye

Swallowing

Me

A priest bows his head.

I WASH AWAY THE SINS OF THIS WORLD

I try to imagine my tears as holy.

Water,

Flooding my face

Just as jesus would have wanted.

But this does not bring life back.

A carnation grows,

Dies,

And disintegrates.

A weed pulled too early-

Too fast-

Too soon.

And the smell will haunt me

No matter how many tears I cry.