Have you seen a garden of Lilies and Forget-me-not’s?
Deepest melancholic blue,
And a pure white,

They grow only in the best soil, and that’s my chest.
Their roots tangle into my lungs and nourish them with tears.

You could never understand this strange creature I call a heart.
Ripping Flowers from my skin to make you a bouquet.
My blood drips for you, my ghost.
Something that wasn’t truly living could never die.

Like the warmth from an “I love you”
It lingers every day, to once a week, once a month,
Soon enough to become an ache in your chest.

I can wish on Stars, but I know the cost of the dead.
But hope is the last to die, so I grow a garden in my chest.
Each flower is a gravestone for every hope, dream, and what-if

But my Ghost, and my love, it grows back every time
Even if you won’t take my flowers,
I love them just as much as I love you.