Luscious, bright, vivacious, fragrant, hopeful, a breath of life.
Just like the body they burnt with.
Until, the ‘female’ gaze disintegrated, deflowered him, petal by petal.
Crushed him, till the crimson of the petals stained her hands, and she called it his parting gift.
She let him blow in the wind after that, but he barely got by an inch before the wind blew out of him.
And so we put flowers. As a symbol of his life. They served their purpose well.
Hauled from their roots, no thorns for protection, pinched and chopped – and told that they’re full of life, just to make you feel beautiful for a day.
Till they wither and crumble.
No amount of watering can save them.
They were never alive.
// men get raped too //
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