They looked very odd in that little handmade vase…in that room.

Small white and pink carnations have lived graciously for the past week without loosing one bit of their beauty and posture.

They have not lost a leaf nor a petal.

A creative hand has cut into some plastic bottle that was thrown in the trash…a worthless piece of plastic was carved into  a small transparent, perfect fitting vase that held those flowers close, together and meaningful.

Yet they looked odd…among a black and red room…filled with rotten scents… and attempts to clear the air with perfumes and purity that only added to the oddness has failed…failed attempts to clarify…failed attempts to unify roses with the living dead.

They looked odd, no matter how many times i tried to get used to their presence there…every time the sun would shine and the words would rhyme…every time closeness warms the chills away and devotion floods passions again…the rotten stink would blind the eyes, shuts the hearts and deafens the sensation of the holding hand that cares so much.

Maybe they looked odd because they failed to die…they failed to find the rot choking…they felt to starve to death…they kept their beauty among those neglecting beats…those lame neglecting treats…and the vain lies.

They should have dried and died…they should have matched the life of their beholder…they should have faded away…thrown away and forgotten today and everyday.

Those carnations look vivid…look good…look alive…

Those carnations are dying now…and in a few hours…they would be thrown away and forgotten for good!