Plastic Flower

By Eden Michelle Sinclair

This piece of meat inside my bosom, Goes hand in hand with my sleeve, It beats for the flowers that blossom, That's what I made to believe

For the simplest reason, I watered a fake one, I witnessed the piece of meat rot in my chest, With a wrenching pain and pumping out a fountain, The realisation of the meat's uselessness made itself clear,

All I feel now is shame, I should've foreseen the flower was fake, But my sight was too far to see, It looked the same amongst the flowers to me