Flower in Hand

Look at this flower in my hand
Outstretched without speaking
So eager to devour
I look upon the flower

Decode it wrong, become the loser
It grows in girth, your hand it withers
More detached from now
Occasionally look up and dither

To bury, eating away
At your body and mind
So carefully nourished
Symbiotically entwined

Look at the flower, you say
Look at the flower, you say
Don't give it shade
Don't give it shade

This is the very thing that helps us get big
Don't give it shade
Don't give it shade
Don't give it shade
Don't give it shade

All objects that are extensions of me are broken
And here you berate me like a boomer
For the second life I hold in my hand
The one that gives us all we have planned

You criticise me, like all else that sustains you
Wince at the taste of your mother's boob
We travel and complain and point fingers
And we argue about privilege

Like the privileged like to do
Like the privileged like to do
That's me and you