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Illustration for Internal Garden


My soul is a rusting flower
And when its harvest yields
I find myself drowning
In these horribly beautiful fields

Of gold, and pain, and laughter
Across torn grins; my soul
Paints brilliantly with these flowers
That refuse to devour that cold

I feel: that rare, confused beauty
Writhing behind brilliant eyes
My soul that smothers weakness –
That slits the throat that cries

I harbour compressed feelings
So my soul can’t strip me thin
It must go on; yielding
Those brilliant flowers from within

My soul is a dusty flower
That grows inside my chest,
And even though it’s lovely
I can never catch my breath