Prose | Dead Flowers 🌺

“Salt also looks like sugar.”

The garden was the beginning and
the first flowers the
symptom of their veil of love.
Everything looked pink and
velvet, aroma
intoxicating.

Who would say that thorns
would hide?
Who would say that smoke
would envelop me?

Who would know of the martyrdom
that awaited in silence?
Who would know that even
the roses would hurt?

Every rose given to me
stole my soul, the
pieces fell at her feet.
"How dazzling you look!"
"You are the most beautiful flower
I have," his voice told me...

...as chains came from her arms, welding themselves to mine with empty promises and vague words.

A garden of deceit, built
on flowery verses and phrases without
foundation. A sweet poison that
envelops in a withered whisper.

Nothing bad I saw, nothing bad
noticed when those
flowers, once soft, became
carnivorous.
Sharp teeth spurred,
choked cries claimed
to be heard.

But no one came...

How could something so beautiful
become deformed?
How could something so natural
become distorted?
Only he could manipulate
the real and fabricate a
glass prison.

The garden became a desert,
water became scarce
and fantasy vanished.
Love was diluted and the
mirage disappeared.

At last the blindfold
fell from my eyes and I could see the world
fictitious, the ego wounded and
the falsity of that garden that I thought was sublime.

The sun went away and a
torrential rain poured down.
The glass cracked and
gave way, shattered with
deafening noise.

The dead flowers
rested alone. The garden
never existed, the scenery
was plastic.

Dissolved fragrance, stench
of deception and a love that did not
was left a great damage.

Deep scars
engraved inside,
a strong lesson
taught me.

I no longer expect dead flowers, I no longer desire roses with broken stems. I no longer believe in Narcissus of cheap talk, where they are the center and the "universal" summit.

Today, my own garden I want to plant, full of self-love and resilience. Because every woman must bloom on her own.

"La sal también parece azúcar".

El jardín fue el inicio y
las primeras flores el
síntoma de su velo de ~~amor~~.
Todo se veía rosado y
de terciopelo, aroma
embriagador.

¿Quién diría que espinas
ocultaría?
¿Quién diría que el humo
me envolvería?

¿Quién sabría del martirio
que aguardaba en silencio?
¿Quién sabría que hasta
las rosas harían daño?

Cada rosa dada me
robaba el alma, los
trozos caían a sus pies.
"¡Que deslumbrante te ves!"
“Eres la flor más hermosa
que tengo”, su voz me
decía…

...mientras cadenas salían de sus brazos, soldándose a los míos con promesas vacías y palabras vagas.

Un jardín de engaño, construido
en versos floridos y frases sin
cimiento. Un dulce veneno que
envuelve en un susurro marchito.

Nada malo vi, nada malo
advertí cuando aquellas
flores, antes suaves, se
convirtieron en carnívoras.
Dientes afilados espoleaban,
gritos ahogados reclamaban
ser oídos.