They screamed - a poem

Phil wanted to know if he was loved.
So he picked a flower.
And began picking off petals.
Asking,
Nay, stating,
Nay, BEGGING!
'She loves me'!
'She loves me not!'
'She LOVES me!'
'She loves me NOT!'
With each petal picked.
The insane damn gambling rogue! 
Everyone who saw this display of desperation and affection was moved.
Nay, inspired!
Nay, on the seat of their, well feat, this was in a garden, there were no chairs for them to be at the end of! 
The petals began to disappear rapidly.
The tension grew substantially. 
The hope expanded exponentially.
When finally.
Nay, eventually.
Nay fatally!!!
He reached the final petal.
'She loves me!!!!'
'She loves him!!!!'
'They LOVE one another!!!!!!'
The crowd roared. 
'Who's the lucky girl?'
'Nay lucky soul?'
'Nay lucky existence body of possibility hope!'
They SCREAMED!
'Oh I was seeing if that specific flower loved me'.
He said matter of factly.
That disembowering scumbag. 

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