There is always poison in the garden.

Sometimes it is well-hidden, under the roses, buried beneath the soil. Sometimes it lurks just beneath the surface, waiting for an unwary hand to dip beneath the great nodding heads and slice a finger on the thorns.

Sometimes, you know exactly what you are walking into.


.

.

.


You can never really leave the garden.

You can walk out the gate, point your feet towards the path, and start walking, but if you aren't careful you'll find yourself back among the roses, trailing fingertips over their nodding heads, ever conscious of what lies beneath.

You can walk out of the gate and lock it behind you, but if you're not careful you might find yourself staring at it for hours, wondering if it's worth one more try.

You can walk out of the gate, lock it behind you, and keep your feet firmly on the path to anywhere, so long as it's away, but there will be petals stuck to your shoes. If you're not careful, the petals will grow into their own flowers, and you'll never leave the garden because it's here, with you.