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...