What makes a flower a flower,

makes a man mince his words

What has the power to within an hour

turn a man from asleep to alert?

What changes do we make to make changes?

What arranges laziness to fall?

When strangers ignore the king in the manger,

Graced in bullet exchanges 

- with no thoughts to grace at all?

How can we feel cleansed by an hour long shower,

when thousands upon thousands of birds,

bathe in the pacific tar pits 

from the hull of the promised provider of power,

for the necessary hertz?

What is the meaning of boring peace?

When pain has to felt, or it all feels the same?

What is the meaning of strife without ease?

When its mere existence is a greater shame?

What makes a flower a flower?

In the beginning was the word,

the only thing that man’s ears devour,

but it’s all in my imagination - or so I’ve heard.

One fell night it fell upon the girl to jump. 

Despite her creaking bed and the goose down that flew up for one last time, she decided never to end the first jump; as soon as her soles touched the pillow, her knees bent and contact shifted from back foot to toes, and up she goes, again, for the fiftieth time. 

Her nightgown has turned dark and she begins to feel cold in between her rapid attempts at retaining breath. She hears the door open and in her mind hears her father’s anger, feels his infeeble fingers run across her already rosy cheek. She falls, never having ended the jump, she falls so far, and even though the splinters hurt, her reflection in them smiles back. As she turns her head, suddenly the darting wind ceases to scratch her eardrums, and total silence right before she closes her eyes, because that’s what dead people do, right?

Pain.

As always, the sizzles of the sea breeze swept straight over the newly fallen and muted their last morbid moans. 

What the movies don’t show, is that, when internal bleeding is the cause, death usually takes it’s sweet time,. Even though a limbo dancer’s face has turned inanimate, fiery maggots may still be twitching about in their brains, 

"Without the ability to look back upon experiences postmortem, we might as well save our worst for last, right?" 

To comfort the dear reader, let’s say the girl didn’t suffer anymore after she jumped; The overwhelming sensation of freedom left her incapable of noticing how sorry others would have felt for her if they had experienced her descend. As it was, the door opened because a couple of thieves had entered the apartment trying to accomplish what thieves usually try to. They were not simple men, they were simply amidst a self-explanatory activity. And even if they were simple, that would be all for nought, as they witnessed the broken rips of the bed, the glass fanged former window and the red curtains sticking out like a cleft tongue. Realizing they were standing inside the skull cavity of a spitting cobra, they turned around quickly enough for their whitened faces to be met with another. Several seconds passed before they passed by the father and out of the apartment.

In spite of winter looming, the juniper wouldn't stop flaunting,

Incredulous in the face of the forecast weather, white'n daunting,

The little bush was blooming.

"Oh, how she struts, this jumped up Juniper!" They murmured,

"Lo now her