The Flowers Of My Soul

The corset softly hugging my waist is like
A tall, hourglass vase,
Holding the thin and graceful flowers of my soul inside,
Lovingly protecting them from the harsh world.

Suddenly, his vicious arrows of words strike heavily
Against my vase, shattering it into a million pieces.
In desperation, I try to swoop the limp flowers into my bleeding arms
While the shards of glass reflect my terror-filled eyes.

The wilting flowers droop in my hands, dying
While I watch, my patched heart breaking to the beat
Of his unforgiving voice slamming me down,
Dragging me down into the darkness.

With a choked gasp, I realise the flowers are dead;
I gently cradle them in my hands, sobbing with tears of guilt
That I could not save them,
That I could not save me.

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