Her delicate skin has now frayed at the edges,
Trapped in the knots of the tortuous hedges
She snaps at the touch of the sun's goading rays,
Recoiling into the desolate shade.
A papery yellow, bleeding to scarlet,
Her saccharine odour is cutting like garnet
Through stifling air that encompasses all,
Pleading for breeze of an oncoming fall.
But one chilling stab and the dragon lies slain,
The frost overwhelming her fragile frame
Enraged by her sorrows, confined by herself,
All that she leaves is a skeletal shell.
Sweet blossom concealed in the desolate shade,
Consumed by the flaws that she couldn't evade
A paragon lost to the pressures of beauty,
Still wilting remains a compulsory duty.
We cannot exist unless blemished and flawed
Tied to our lives by a withering cord,
So dear, though you feel like your petals are torn;
Every apple is bruised, every rose has a thorn.
