Bowl of Petunias

A piece of pie
high in the sky
burns like the star she is;

Her ashes fall
on mortal soil
warm in my bliss;

She rages on
for ages long
I die each day and night;

Vanity for
her endless light
hides me from her sight;

Drains my soul
bleeds my tears
burns me to the bone;

Yet I crave
her selfish heat
as I crumble in my own;

I loved you once
and you did too
claim it was so;

Cut me still,
I cried and screamed
blinded by your glow;

I pleaded, I begged
I even fell
bruised my fucking knees;

Cut me still
I cried and screamed
like that bowl of petunias,
falling off the windowsill.

“Oh no, not again.”

By Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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