there are holes in my heart
and a hole in my shirt,
I plucked all the flowers
from my garden,
now there’s only weeds and dirt.
maggots poke their heads
through the cavities
in my chest, eating all that’s left
like I’m a rotten delicacy;
now I heard you were so pleased
with my homegrown roses and daisies,
that you offered them to another lady.
but I could always plant more flowers
for another boy, perhaps.
and I could fill these holes
with something new,
sow some seeds ‘til something pretty grew…
and I could patch up the hole in my shirt,
If I only knew how to sew.
but no matter what,
it won’t bring back you.