Fleur du Mal

Infamous bloom
plushly petaled
poppy
your juice is a 
portal
to perdition
and pain...
Brightly
crimson
or creamy
China White,
Do your partakers
know that your embrace
is never an
ascension?
Curious creatives
and quirky artists,
quiet, brooding loners
and all you,
existentialist seekers,
and you-
hipster mystics,
beatific beat angels,-
Do you know
that your
blasphemous
communion
is but a kiss
of death?
Numbed,
glassy eyed and gaunt-
Do you recognize
your unraveling,
see,
your very own
plunge?
Or do you still
romanticize
such a sorry state?
Hell-bent,
you row down
Lethe,
arrive on a dark
shore,
but there are no heroes
here,
nor heroics-
only the
damned,
only heroin's heavy
toll...