When she turns the corner,
I push a weed off of me,
That has been clinging.
It's wrapped around my arm,
And it's too late to cut it off when,
I have been seen,
And marked.
I have broken the final layers,
And torn the rest of the petals,
Off my beautiful,
Wilted,
Flower.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted
PoetryShe couldn't see him, But she was all he could see. Raw Poetry, by: Mae Ethlyn
