They say love is like a cigarette. Two simple necessities
both fun in the beginning, but will kill you eventually.
While fulfilling our every need with a welcoming warmth
they each have self-given warnings of unhealthy discourse —
Yet we ignore it.
In nothing ventured there’s always nothing learned.
The image tells us his story,
A lover spurred but undeterred.
He looks determined to come to terms with the
reason why.
Weary eyed and sleep deprived, yet we can see those tears have dried.
There’s clearly life in our wallflower yet.
The bouquet looks weathered and folds under pressure
with head hung, but stem strong enough to hold it together.
You may notice the negligence shown to
what’s left of them first.
It suggests that these weren’t sent by a personal friend —
but are ‘sorry’ flowers, in every sense of the word.
These readily purchased gas station options are meaningless.
Overpriced and sold at twice the cost for convenience.
No-one buys them.
The only time they’re offered is really if
the guilty conscience you’re dealing with feels an apologies needed quick.
The fact he bothered to even situate them shows us he
cared
even if he no longer shares the same sentiment, the notion was there.
His emotions are bared on his porcelain skin
in the opening where a heart normally sits.
It was stolen from there and then torn into bits
Now it’s broke.
Irreparable.
There’s no plausible fix other than time itself.
The lighting helps convey a new dawn full of brighter sun
while dying yellow chrysanthemums symbolise unrequited love.
Judging by the bunch of flowers sent, albeit to little avail,
we can begin to assail this isn’t the pale figure of your atypical male.
It’s a transitional tale of a body dysmorphic who’s
conscious of flaws and wants to feel ‘normal’ in the one he was born into.
He needs someone to support him through his metamorphosis
to shed his former image and be who he felt assured he is.
They never saw his inner-self, just the most recently used cover,
the sheen of the loose rubber mask his secrecy loomed under.
Its stuck-on smile looks inviting,
yet his appearance had grew sullen
at seeing the two younger butterfly’s flutter by while revealing their true colours.
He yearned to feel like a new woman.
To be who he should be.
A beautiful creature soon to be free of the room that he reinvents himself in while cocooned in its sheets.
As moonlight retreats and the dawn hour sets
Weary eyed and sleep deprived, his tears have dried.
There’s clearly life in our wallflower yet.