poem #2

flowers

 the house it burns around me,
 the carpets and the walls.
 the curtains fall and crumple, 
 and melt upon the floor.
 the smoke it swirls around me,
 and quickly fills my lungs.
 but i forget to notice
 and remain within the room.
 i stand arranging flowers
 to make the room look nice.
 the house it is still burning,
 the pain cuts like a knife.
 i feel the heat envelop
 and burn against my skin.
 but i must arrange these flowers,
 to them i am akin. 

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