stop and smell the roses

i write. i hope you read.  i hope you read this post.   i was given a bouquet on valentines day and apparently i'm more cynical than i thought because this is what the flowers inspired.
~Stop and Smell the Roses~
distorted, jeering faces,
masks, fog over familiar apathy.
ice claws, biting wind,
breaking the window prison of my sanity.

quiet horrors,
that is what they are,
floating up to mimic joy
outline perfection, then
deflate
leave popped, disfigured versions
of brightly shining dreams.
pin prick punctures in balloons,
scarlet spirals on pale noon,
scattering the bare shreads of truth.
i catch them all
like fallen petals,
tears from flower eyes, a rose coloured black out.
eventually even daisies die

everything is fine.

we're a bouquet
severed, soaked in water to our throats
delicate stems of flutes
held gently, securely
as tulips,
words on tips of tongues
swallowed, mute.
spindly necks droop,
broken.
life: never free or fair or golden.
gone with early frost
trampled
under children's feet
wistful wilt of time worn faces.
soon as i'm down toss me out.
uprooted, shallow seated,
a daffodil parade. lily charade.
our last breaths on display,

watch me fade.