Dead Flowers Day.

It’s been long when I wrote a note,
That I love her not because she’s hot,
But her personality and confidence,
Her broad smile being the evidence,
That’s why I love her not in valentines,
But only in between my spoken lines,
The reasons why I swam in poetry,
Planting speaking roses in her blood artery,
A quantity surveyor of my heart,
The only being in my spoken art,
It’s a lovers day,
I’ll carry flowers in my huge tray,
Go straight and bow towards her grave,
Alone and not with my friend Dave,
I’ll be sure of not shedding a tear,
Of not breaking her heart that’s my fear,
The dead flowers day,
With my garden full of dry flowers hay,
Full of loneliness like a jungle,
A jungle full of ghost voices in every angle,
That’s why I’m holding my heart down,
Closing myself in my room in downtown,
Lacking a dream of this valentines,
The only poet with no love rhymes.

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