Take the bunch.

Yes, that bunch.

The bunch of wild flowers

Wilted flowers

Withered flowers

Worthless flowers.

The bunch of untold guilt

Of unfelt emotions

Of unsaid words of regret

Of unstrung chords of grins, laughs and tears.

Of undying love

And dead words of sympathy.

The bunch that mended

Your broken bits together

When the dreary sands of the past

Or the misty veils of the future

Smothered your writhing soul-

Yea, it mended you back to whole.

The bunch that fixed your biggest flaws

Like when you lied in front

Of your uncle, perched

Upon the edge of the

Hospital bed;

A bed that was about to

Forever become his.

Forever belong to him.

Or what was left of him.

Said he,

Voice choked with a life's worth of tears,

"Will I live?"

And you,

You with your years upon years of lies

Had only to think but a second

Before spilling out just another.

Another of them. The lies.

Another stab in the dark.

It was only a matter of moments

Before he fell apart.

And you sobbed by the fire

Beside his throne, his pyre

You with the burning dark.

You with your bleeding heart.

That bunch. The bunch of broken promises

The one that stopped you from calling your beloved back

It was her fault, wasn't it?

So what if you forgot her birthday?

The bunch that killed your moments of shame

The moments when

You were supposed to feel guilty.

Guilty of losing your father's money

Guilty of starting a fight with her

Guilty of letting your son

Stay out till midnight.

You had to feel guilty.

That's how it worked.

Instead, you felt conflicted.

You felt provoked and riled.

You felt the wax of adamant rage

Seep through your blazing flames

Fuelled by your elastic beliefs of right and wrong,

Fuelled by your misplaced stubbornness.

That bunch.

The bunch that turned your heart to stone.

The bunch that made them all go.

The bunch that drowned them in the sea

And left you standing on the shore.

The bunch that killed your tattered soul

After maiming it a thousand times

Sharp, shining, shameless

Shattering

You

Into shards.

The bunch that enlivened you

You, a ball of flesh and blood

And then gave you a taste of death

With the ball still rolling.

A machine.

Just worse.

A bunch that people baptise

With names numerous

That change their form with the passing seasons

A befitting condition for a friend so fickle

It only takes a knife for it to desert you.

A bunch I call

A friend

A bastard

A companion

A traitor.

A curve of joy.

A messenger of sorrow.

The divine nectar.

The devil's syrup.

Fuelled by your ego.

Your pride.

Fuelled by your foe

Inside.

Fuelled by the right

that left.

Fuelled by what's left

Of the right.

A bunch of

Seething fire

Of envy, hope

And desire.

For this bunch

Of lust and lies

The name 'life'

Shall suffice.