Do not tattoo flowers onto your skin. Roses will make it bleed from their thorns, react to its pollen, infect your skincanvas with beauty that will be delicate and vulnerable. You will feel the pain of a pinprick like stems suck in sunshine; on the daily and with only the moon as a saviour. You will unfurl towards it eagerly. You will mistake bees for bosses, nectar for necessary, and leaves for leaving. You will start messing up biology. You will wake with new growths on you, constantly, seeding energy. Your skin will break from a storm, turn moody and thunderous, and among the torn branches you will find buds in anticipation of their next bed. You will always be a fertile ground for someone to plant themselves in, but you will not always want to be tended to.