Photo by Alejandro Salazar on Unsplash

Flower Child in the Poison Garden

Eli Brooks
1 min readFeb 25

Blackberry sunsets and willow tree wisps.

Old iron bars wrapped in nightshade’s kiss.

Stinging nettles hung from bleeding heart pedals.

Empty-eyed specter of vine-choked abyss.

I’m the herald of hemlock, your purveyor of pain.

Sinking as I sleepwalk, wrapped in waves of wolfsbane.

My bouquet betrays the senses, a fragrance of untold expenses.

Thorns snake through every opening in my broken-down fences.

I am the bringer of blight, ghost flowers growing in graveyard light.

Wisteria in full bloom, the sticky red nectar of inviting sundew.

The flower child of love-me-nots and dandelion blooms.

The virulent slumber of freshly cut laurel fumes.

Trust in me, and find only death.

Pulled under the petal-lined, riptide, of oleander and babies' breath.

I am the drowned prince, a prisoner to this place.

The kingdom of blood-scraped cheeks and rabbit chased.

Oh barbed briar of adoration entangled,

how you leave the hummingbirds all strangled.

How you rip and pluck,

maul and suck,

the sinew from their bones..

© 2023; Eli Brooks. All Rights Reserved

Eli Brooks

🖤 Poet 😎 Demotivational Speaker 🧠 Terrible Advice For Great Results