I may be this thing,
you call human
I am composed of flesh
but my thoughts are deceiving:
Is the act of presenting flowers a form of torture?
Are the flowers going through a form of torture by their being cut off from their natural environment, displayed in unnatural areas, and left to wilt?
Is wilting the slow process of execution?
Are we seeing dead bodies, of carbon mass yet post life non the less, in front of us when a bouquet is displayed?
Is the arrangement a figurative pile of dead bodies?
Are those who deal in the floral business agents of death?
Is it too far to extend the consciousness of flora and fauna to the realm of awareness?
Are we just sapient for sapiens?