In the field where we once grew,

I wondered why the deer departed 

as I pulled marigolds from their home.

Before the final petal fell,

I ate that wicked flower.

No lies left behind in its shadow.

The promises of stars

became celestial ash

marking our footprints,

scars.

Our plans became 

burned maps of places 

we would never see.

I tried to give you my soul,

only the weeds could hear me 

but they soon died from pesticides.