Six weeks they've been there in that vase, once proud, now hanging their heads in shrivelled up stinking shame.
Used to be beautiful, vibrant and bright, now dismal and wretched, nondescript, without a name.
Placed there so purposefully, centre stage.
Now the focus of my hopelessness, target of my turmoil, vitriol and rage.
"When I am consumed by trauma memories and depression nothing matters, not even whether I continue to breath. My wife brings me beautiful bouquets of flowers that somehow lose their beauty in my presence. Everything becomes grey, everything becomes exhausting, even simply appreciating what's in front of you takes insurmountable effort."