Wrapping paper.

Curiosity burns. Fingers twitch.
You itch to peel, to reveal.
Trembling hands, unwrap a gift.
A gift that was not yours.

It was never yours.
And yet you wanted it,
It’s warmth you longed for.
It’s scent you craved.

But most of all, what you wanted,
was to see what was inside.

Take it all apart, tear it all away-
the wrapping paper and ribbons,
the skin, flesh, and bones.
Eyes grow wide to behold a sight.

Only to be greeted by none.

Wrapped so pretty was nothing at all.
An empty chest cavity, without a heart.
Satisfaction was frivolous. Fleeting.
As was the gift you had long sought.

All that remains is a broken cocoon,
of crimson flowers and paper skin.