In a gnarled garden
Petals flushed with fire, edges bruised
Perfume drowning in stench
Withered nettles, soured earth
Breeze carries traces
Damp decay, rust-bitten thorns
Hungry for what they cannot become
Dirt clings, acrid, insistent
Mocking sweetness with charred musk
Roots below ask a strangling question:
Why bloom when ruin is law?
Still, the stem
Stretches upward
Honeyed scent spilling
Into poisoned air
Refusing to wither
Refusing to yield
Rot is not the only ending
Beauty, once breathed
Lingers