I once held a flower in my hand.
Soft and slightly prickly
it stared up at me through an unsure brow.

I breathe on a scream
carved into your skin.
You're as surreal
as a windshield dipped in pollen,
and just as hard to see through.
I tap you on the shoulder
just to get you to turn your head.
Just making sure.
You nod even though I don't say anything.

A lingering look behind your lashes
I once held a flower in my hand.
tells me how many times you've tried to get away,
tried getting someone to believe you,
tried locking yourself away until you forgot everything but white walls.
Now we're here
and I once held a flower in my hand,
and I once helped you out your window into a field
where you ran around in your nightgown
like a hazy sort of Wendy ritual.

There's been some sort of line crossed
and maybe we should talk about it.
I once looked upon a flower,
its willowy stem bending as the wind willed it,
unsure eyes dancing under pastel fringe.
I breathe a scar onto your skin and flinch
but know I stopped there,
all the tiny shatters and screams cluttering legs
belong not to me,
but to your nightmares.

There's been some kind of evolution
but I dance for a few seconds with you
before I put my face down to the daisies and scream.
Out of the frying pan
and into a snow globe.
You turn the handle and we dance like Everyone Loves Lucy,
afraid to let the curtain close.
I once held a flower in my hand,
careful not to uproot the grass,
graceful and frail
with an arched back,
I made a promise to broken eyes.

I drown myself in leaves and petals.
We are doomed,
and therefore the world is doomed.
The flowers are doomed.
I have lied.
I breathe a promise onto your skin
and you giggle because you're still Wendy.
We dance and I scream until headlights chase us away.