I sail alone on the hopeless sea
With just the stars to fill my view
You are a firework that lit up my sky
now the smoke is just the memory of you

In that moment, you gave me sight
But now it’s darker than before
My lonesome shadow adjusts in my eye
just me and the stars, forevermore

The middle of middle school,
Where "everybody" thinks they're cool,
When people become or continue to be idiots,

You change youself,
And can't be yourself,
Yourself is not cool enough for them,

Even though bullies may attack you,
And people don't help you,
You belong in this world

Do the flowers mourn when one is picked?
I know that question is kinda morbid and sick.
But I’ve always wondered if they somehow know,
Like for weddings and birthdays that it’s their time to go?

Do they feel sorry for lovestruck dames,
That pull off petals whilst saying their crushes’ names,
That pulled the last petal on “He loves me not”?
Do they feel bad that she’s distraught?

Do they compete on who’s the prettiest?
Each person has an opinion of which flower is the best,
Of their looks are they actually aware,
Do flowers even care?