I covered my body in flowers in hope that one day you’d find the same comfort in me as you did in the first flowers of Spring,
I covered my skin with ink in hope that one day you’d find the same passion in me that you did in the pages of a book,
But your words were just too much and my flowers never as beautiful,
And so I crushed those flowers between the pages of your favourite novel and I let my ink bleed between the paper,
This way I know whenever you read that book you’ll be haunted by the pieces of me that you never cared to see.