two_tall_paintings_at_the_base_of_a_tree raze nine sunflowers in a blue bowl on a table the colour of morning's finest verdant carpet, and an apple to match the blood of my words. above the uneaten fruit, a sweet-sounding lie about knowledge and grace — the implication being that these things are given, not earned, when those of us who have lived long enough to grow into our truest selves know better. don't take a picture. all of this is already gone. 250412 what's it to you? who go blather from