IN essence, with all its technicalities, I would make a most gruesome plant. I breathe too much, and oxigenate too little. I bear a burden even amongst weeds. Never picked, never stepped on, never watered or germinated. I have only the pollen of a long lost king bee. (If those still even exist.) Should I show up on a sidewalk crack, the vase of an indescript crypt, your future spouse’s wedding bouquet (the horror!) It wouldn’t really matter much; had I ever even begun the process– I will never flower.


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