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A Fire In The Attic II

I'm laying in my attic for the first time in years.

Last time I came here, I was almost brought to tears over the little flower on the window seal, but this attic has changed.

The flower is still alive, but I took some time to rearrange the boxes of memories.

I've made this room my own personal space where I can escape the struggles of my home.

Where I can smoke a cigarette in peace

While I look through the pictures of what I used to be

And what my parents want me to be.

They want their child back, but these hangovers and high times have slowly attacked my thoughts.

I can never restore my childhood.

And if I could stop myself from this pain, believe me, I would.

And the pain multiplied on the day I left the house to get some quiet time away from the loud argument between my parents.

They left the house to keep themselves tamed

And I forgot my cigarette in the attic.

And a little flam came to life.

It grew into a fire, but luckily it died.

The firefighters put it out and I came home to a surprise.

A note reading "Look at the attic. You have 6 hours to leave."

Nobody cares about your fate if they don't like what they see.

Not even my parents.

And I saw what I caused.

I opened up the attic and I immediately paused at the sight of a black pot and shriveled up flower.

"It hasn't been a minute or an hour
Or a day or a week. This flower's been here for a while and it's still alive."
Or at least it was until I ruined my life, I mean... the flower's life...

I should've noticed this earlier.

They flower may have shined, but it was still living in hell.

I compared its beauty to its surroundings and thought it was doing well, but I left it in this dark environment.

I could've set it free.

And now I'll never know how beautiful this flower could truly be.

I cared about this flower or at least that's what I said, but I didn't do a damn thing.

This flower in the attic is dead.