Carnations Poem by Hope Wallin

Pink and fluffy.
Soft and 'romantic'.
They make me sick.
I wish I could rid the wold
Of them all.
And the smell!
It's torture to me!
A thought occurs.
Of course it's cliche'd, but still.
I can't help myself.
'He loves me.'
'He loves me not.'
'He loves me.'
And so on,
Untill all the petals are gone,
Lying in a pile of pink shreds.
I laugh at my own stupidity,
For I lost count somewhere between
The first five 'He loves me not's.
I don't know if he loves me,
Or not.
But I do know one thing:
I hate carnations.