I clench the already wilting flower,
in my hand.
"God dammit, it's happening again."
Each fail I cause, a petal falls.
"I seem to be on my last one."
Tears run down my cheeks and
it burns much like acid.
because I feel pathetic crying,
it hurts.
I now, hold the flower softly,
in both of my hands.
Glaring down below, at the shrivelled
Amaryllis.
I wonder, what I could've done;
to make sure it would have lived longer.
The last petal falls and
my pride falls along with it.
- someone
YOU ARE READING
I wish that I didn't write these poems.
PoesíaVarious collective of unwanted poems I have written; for people who are fond of the subjects of heartache and who are disorientated through the navigation of this world. Let me share this with you. My emotions are inconsistent and messy, please in...
