Her lips dried up and fell away
She took apart her made-up face
And in the night and through the day
Her folded body, violet, lay.

Reaching deep inside her brain
She felt a slow, violent strain
And harmonizing with the pain
She thought she heard him come again.

She grew leaves from out her elbows
They grew down around her toes
Along her spine grew violet roses
Her vines and veins anastomosed

She grew leaves from slits in her wrists
The vines she grew enclosed her fists
Her roses bloomed in violent tints
Covering handprints on her skin.

She lay quiet; decomposing
Her body slowly eroding
A girl only in a poem
And all that was left were roses.

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