Will you smell like a bunch of roses?

Will you smell like a bunch of roses, or whatever my favourite flowers were, I seem to forget. All this, when my nose is blocked and don’t want to use my olfactory receptors?

Or will you sleep like the mellow sunflower, waiting for another day to descend upon it , erasing the light of yesterday?

Will you be the never ending melody of a clarinet, waged in triumph of love over evil, of hope in despair, of laughter in pain, of joy in loss, and so that two souls may unite?

Or will you be buried so deep in melancholic suicide that even the deepest of excavations fail in tracing the symphony that once became the sound of music?

Will you be the broad daylight I wish to receive, every time the heavens flash into my eyes?

Or will you glisten only in solitude, when I’m not there, and so aren’t you?

Will you ever be the reason that I breathe into the skies, float on fresh grass, the dew kisses my lips, and the froth of the seas is effervescent and sprays its foam on my desiccated face?

Or will you be my sole reason of contempt, my mission of malevolence, and the cause I despise everything nature and society has to offer.

Read from the beginning and alternate between stanzas and you will see life is beautiful.

Read from the second stanza and alternate likewise and you will see how pathetic you’ve made life for yourself.

May you never read the second stanza. Never begin with Or.