Flowers Like Chatty Freakin' Cathys

The crackling sound of falling rose petals
while I'm trying to sleep
Dried and hanging on the wall,
a bundle of memories, incessantly talking

Dark Pink, from coffee-guy at work
who has yet to actually bring me coffee, is the newest and irritated with
the Lonely White for being my own Valentine for the first time in 6 years.
Yellow-With-Orange-Trim, from a friend who followed the trail of sunbeams and blood, is proud like a peacock still and overshadows
the Sweet Blue Rose, simply because Blue Rose likes to read
The Glass Menagerie before she goes to bed.
The Red Rose, old and shy, traveled from desert to sea to city.
Carried everywhere and shedding petals, she was loved so hard,
doesn't say much because after 6 years there isn't much to say.

Thinking I should learn how to press flowers,
instead of dry them
Suffocated blooms don't keep you up at night
with self-important chatter

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