Lethal Petals

Note: The poem is loosely inspired by “Reverse Hanahaki” – a fictional illness from Japanese lore in which a person who does not return someone’s love begins to cough up flower petals.

My heart was being ripped wide open
seeing you cough flower petals
roses, chrysanthemums, dahlias
in stalks, tufts and clusters,
larger and wider than before.

you looked ghostly —
almost deathly pale 
like tear shaped drooping
snowdrops of early winter;

your brown eyes
bulging out like round
florets of sunflower;

each breath a gasp; 
your hands shaking like a
fragile reed beside a pond

since we crossed paths
at the annual flower show
after many summers and winters

you were stomping on the floor
and with a terror-stricken face
examining each dark crimson, 
dry and bloodied flower petal
lying beneath your feet,

mumbling over and over 
under your pulsating breath 
something about not being in love

all too familiar with 
your gruesome affliction,
this pitiful sight destroyed me,

seeing how you had
sworn off your enthusiasm
and deep-seated passion
for every leaf, flower and twig

your bathroom floor now strewn with 
fresh, parched, faded,
symmetric, misshapen flower petals,
redolent, exquisite,
and abundant —

petals when joined together
would make one fine bouquet
just like the handcrafted one
you had gifted me years ago

I washed your floor,
removing every remnant
of unwanted affection
that made you suffer,

while secretly keeping 
a few fresh ones to myself

what can I do to stop your suffering —
I ask myself, 
except to imprison myself  
for a crime I cannot confess.

© Copyright: Leah Chrestien. October 2026.  The post ‘Lethal Petals’ first appeared on The Ecstatic Storyteller. The author reserves the right to the content. No reproduction of content in any form is permitted without the prior consent of the author.