The garden I was born with came with one Flower.
My Flower was stolen from the garden.
My Flower screamed, but I couldn’t move.
Closed are my concave eyes.
As my Flower was being murdered
It was Late. Dark. Loud.
My Flower shedded petal by petal
until it was only one thing left. tears.
Never forgotten death, September 15, 2011
Not ever finding out the ghost in the room that Loud, Dark room.