Pickpocketing danger


The sunflowers have no smell to them this year- they reek of frost and desolation. Putrid yellow tendrils tangling with the Earth. I am waiting for them to ravish this planet. To bear destruction that they so often bring. Their demeanor gives one a sense of amour, flushed happiness hiding its true intent. I pick those petals, pocket them wherever I go in hopes of spreading that malice.





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