The roses are wilted
The violets are gone
The daisies cry as I type out this song
The orchids wither knowing it's all wrong
The sunflowers are dead
The peonies left me with a blinding pain in my head
Bluebonnets, so sacred and rare, left me broken, on a dare.
The corpse flower's stench warns you to beware
The poinsettias all die.
As the buttercups leave me, I wonder if my life is just a lie.
With all of these flowers, tulips and lilies are the flowers with thorns.
They left me empty, forsaken and forlorn.
YOU ARE READING
Complexity
PoetryA poem collection. These.. mean a lot to me. "Complexity is being me, not knowing who you'll really be, knowing you'll have to wait and see."
