I don’t remember when it started and I doubt I’ll remember when it ends, if it does end at all. I’m shocked that I didn’t notice it starting, but I wish I did. Maybe if I did, I could have found a way to stop it, snip it at the bud before it fully bloomed, before it grew to such an extent. My days grow foggier with each new addition to my body. On my left hand my ring finger have shed skin and bone, now from the stump grow red carnations. Though at times when they wilt, in their place grow yellow ones instead. When I blush a single red rose blooms on the tip of my nose, while my cheeks and the tips of my ears are adorned by white chrysanthemums. My hair has cactus spikes hidden inside of it, stabbing anyone who dares run their fingers through it. When I’m enraged the spikes fly from my head, as if responding to my rage with their own. As I walk around town, gardenias fly behind me, leaving a trail of white wherever I go. When I cry marigolds and daffodils fall from my eyes. At first they burned, causing me to cry out in pain, but now they gently slide down my cheeks and float onto the ground. My body craves more water than it ever has before, and I no longer hungry for most foods. I always feel the most energized while standing in the warm glow of the sun. I don’t know what I am becoming and I feel parts of myself being replaced by the flowers everyday. I will go to the grave, as that is where I assume the flowers are taking me, with regrets, though my biggest one is Merlyn. I will miss her smile, even if her it caused my throat to be clogged with pink camellias. One day, before I become overwhelmed by the plants, I wish for Merlyn to place a kiss on my lips, and to leave an ambrosia in her stead.