We were flowers in a garden,
we were wild flowers,
we were weeds for the wasps
to suckle on,
to suck us off
to suck us dry.
We were unclear
out of focus,
a wash of colour
in the distance,
already extinct
never distinct,
ever changing
ever wilting
ever wanting
something more
something more lasting
someone more substantial.
We were flowers in a garden
beauty being stung
too soon
too shallow
too light
never quite right.
We were wild flowers
dying before we’d been plucked.

All Words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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