Floral Bouquet

Every month, I receive

floral bouquet after floral bouquet,

all so beautifully grown and arranged.


Family and friends surround me

like it was some kind of business meeting.

They all stare at the ground

with the inability to look me in the eyes,

solemn looks written all over their faces.

The thick air and depressing atmosphere engulfing everyone and choking them.


Teary-eyed, they turn around and start to leave,

only to stop midway to take their first and last look of me that day,

imagining my dead, lifeless corpse

as they take in the tombstone that lies above my grave.


Everyone leaves with the realization of its finality every time,

knowing that it doesn't matter how many bouquets I was given

or how beautiful they were or even if it was my favorite type of flowers,

because I will not be able to see them or hold them.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741