I'll leave my heart on the edge of your flowerbed,
so you can blossom and bloom while I am rotten dead.
Your roots will overgrow the crevices of my brain,
so that your memory will haunt me for the rest of my days.
The maggots will chew their way out of my stomach,
so that one day all of the beautiful butterflies come up.
I will support your thorny stem that will surely break my skin,
so that at last you can bloom in bloodied red colouring.