She thinks she wasn't born,
I believe,
Yes she blossomed
With a beautiful deformation
Loosing the last bit of personality,
Courtesy.
Humanity, an alien word to her.
Pretty but slow..
Saying she's too fly
For days and months,
I watch, the rose
Like every other,
Wilt.
Who's gonna miss,
Its scent and petals
Bees sucked all its nector.
Now its gonna be so clumsy
So fly they once saw it
Fly for a dark guy.
No seed,no memory,
So attractive and destructive
Now abused and unrecognized
Like a weed in a corn Field
Thinking its still fly.
