A Bleeding Blooming

I am too terrified to love something that is right out of reach.
So, I dig a solemn grave for my decaying soul with indifference and leave
My body to harbor a sprouting stem and petals of a spring peony.
You absentmindedly pluck it, my heart from my chest, still blossomed and beating;
Cup it in your hands, watch ruby honeydew pool in your palms, still raw and bleeding.
Plant it in your front yard, the frontal lobe, behind the peripheral of your greed.
Water the soil with my syrupy blood and watch my new organs grow in speed.
Over time the patches of moss and ferns will foster into a forest of weeds.
Brambles found a latibule; the garden wherein my roots heal the core oak trees.
This thorny apparition is your cupidity latching to the wood like a disease,
You are my birth, you are my life, you are my death, will I ever have my release?