Flower, flower, pretty flower,
bright with glow that ceases never,
whiter than a dove’s soft feather,
precious as a pirate’s treasure.
Beauty of a star afar,
didn’t guide me, only marred.
If only I knew the lie
that was covered deep inside.
Lily of the valley low,
valley where the rivers flow,
poison flowing through your veins,
waiting as my cold heart wanes;
hidden in your berries red,
with which you always had me fed,
now I’m too far gone to mend,
sinking where the oceans end.
1d ago
Jun 5, 2026 at 9:24 AM UTC
Letting go is not a difficult task,
But it means you’re willing to forget something.
You then no longer own it, no longer have the right to ask;
It hurts a lot, but at least it’s a little more than nothing.
Pain is the aftertaste of something very special—
The only souvenir you manage to get from it.
You should hold on to it as if it were your most prized medal,
The only proof that you managed to reach the summit.
Even though it only exists because of the fall,
It’s the only thing left of what once was,
Reminding you of nothing but a gist of it all;
In the end, all of it is left forever ambiguous.
Letting go is not a difficult task,
But you won’t, because it means you lose the past.
1d ago
Jun 4, 2026 at 12:21 PM UTC