Poetry I wrote you some flowers

I keep getting caught in cycles
which loop upon themselves
(as cycles are keen to do)

I fall in love every day
and my heart breaks just as quickly
(because I should not have)
 
i consider it fleeting
that love
unto loving
which eats
away

it does not reach me
and love does not love onto loving myself
as love does not die nor vanish
but does diminish

as so do we all
for one day we will be nothing
(nothing except old bones)
 
once there was a bee
flapping bee being bee
who sang in dance and pheromones
and located pollen for the hive

i stepped on that bee
(on accident)
and ended its life
sending a message home

and another bee came along
and smelled me
and stung me
and died too

and though i was never
an enemy to bees
i was in that instant
and now forevermore
a killer of sweet things
 

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