My soul are the petals on the rose you swiftly took by its stem so gently on a nice summers day. It looked so pretty to you, you just had to take it and keep it to yourself. You placed it in your back pocket without care, while it slowly dies from the inside out. You take it home and forget its in your back pocket. Its stays inside the darkness of your back pocket barely able to see daylight from where its at. There was no care, or love for this poor flower you took. The petals are slowly dying there becoming so dark and stiff, the poor little flower dies on the inside out so
