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your hands are shaking. your vision blurs, goes fuzzy. stupid stupid flowers. stupid stupid vines. they dig and they dig and they dig. your hands are still shaking. busy them; break, over and over, replace, over and over.
break, break, break, break, break.
replace, replace, replace, replace, replace.
and it is fine now. and your hands are still shaking but now it is able to be ignored: manageable. you so rarely are. this is something you can't afford. to be bearable. oh, god. you just aren't. it's by nature, it's predetermined.
you're the flower knight. you should be more calm than you are. sure, the end is coming up, there are no happy endings, you are a version of yourself stuck in the moment he left you (he left you he left you he left YOU!) —
breathe in like it hurts. vines tightening around your arms. it could be comforting if you let it be. you're scared to. you've been getting too comfortable in this "here and now", so-called. you're calm. you're so fucking calm. everything's fine.
everything's good.
you can't help but laugh; good? fine? godddd you are such a fool. everything's going to burn and rot and rot and rot and rot and you can't find it in yourself to care all that much. it's stupid. shouldn't you care? your purpose, this entire time, but you always knew the end was an inevitability.
this season felt too long. drawn on, uncomfortable, painful , a beloved fresh wound. then again, most of the seasons now have felt like this for you. you can never just have one nice, fun, okay season. there's always an issue with you.
it's never been more clear.
all your past selves waltzes around here like they own this mindscape; and maybe part of them does. but it's yours . and you wish you could burn it all down. set it ablaze and it could be amazing.
are your hands still shaking? forget; and breathe. breathe in. it is easy. is it? rot. rot. rot. rot. rot. that's better. it's going to rot. you're going to rot. and that's— fine, really. just fine. it's fine. it's fine! the dream warps around you; cherry blossoms planted by hand turn into the cold stone beneath your feet.
a lone poppy, red, red, red. breathe in. this isn't real! none of it's real.
don't think too long about the apparitions of yourself, self, selves, past present future never happened don't think about it—
lilies of the valley planted in front of you; another says to be gentle, don't trample them. you are gentle not by nature but because what else can you be? you are a protagonist by virtue of being the quietest person in the room.
don't think about it.
don't think about heroes, inevitability, about hands bathed in blood and especially don't think about the long-gone closet door; put back for comfort, taken away in the very same breath because mindscapes should reflect the truth, right?
crush rose petals between your fingers; you aren't gentle.
stone becomes grass wet from rain, you aren't gentle.
rip the orange tulip out; you aren't gentle. looking at you are, like that, it's a mistake, a stupid one, foolish one, but that echo of yourself has always been that way. so, so stupid. so, so, painfully so— make you sick, makes, makes you sick.
breathe in again.
because what else can you be, protagonist, protagonize! unsteady, unsteady, your vision blurred, your steps are uneasy, your breathing hurts, hurts, hurts— this is a dream, it is only a dream, so act like it! you poor, poor fool.
purple, green, in the corner of your eyes. turn to look; gone. blink once, twice, going thrice. still not there. you're not crazy. get closer, nothing's there. purple and green, there's blood on the ground. where'd that come from? a purple coat billowing in the wind, it's not real.
turn around; star is looking at you. star is stepping closer and closer and closer to you and there's a deep nausea churning inside your stomach, a terrible thing imprinted into memory; don't forget!
turn around again; phantom image of yourself, lilies of the valley in its hands, turn to give you a look, look at you like you're wrong —
fall through the ground, grapple uselessly, reach uselessly for red poppies, for orange tulips, for cornflowers, for breath, god, you can't breathe!
you can't.