A heart is a rotting thing
and mine is no different
Molding and dripping with gore
Perhaps the ugliest of all
It does not beat steady
It is infectious and animalistic
But I have grown this, for you
A flower, sprouting and fleeting
Beauty pulled from the sickness
Look at these petals, my love
Unstained by what mars me
Look at this, blooming for you
I have grown this flower for you
My love, if you would accept it,
Beauty grown from a rotting thing