How could I forget,
The timid flower buds,
That bloom late spring,
And fill the plain meadows,
With a vibrancy of colour.

How could I forget,
To pluck one wilting stem,
From the blackest earth,
And keep it trapped,
Between my thumb,
And forefinger.

How could I forget,
To tear off the fragile petals,
And sing to myself,
As if I was still a child,
A song that allowed,
Not even fractured belief.

How could I forget,
*He loves me not.

I am alone,
Like a structureless prose,
A dark waste of space,
A wilting rose.

I am alive,
But they'd rather I die,
Buried deep underground,
Never to be found.

I cannot,
Soar through the air,
And fly freely,
Across the thermal,
Winds.

My outstretched hands
Cannot delve into,
The rain clouds,
And disperse,
The ever growing,
Fractals of grey.

Water droplets,
Causing my skin,
To concave.
Leaving me limp,
Exceedingly fragile.
My bones,
Crumbling under,
The pressure.

It's as if,
I am your paper plane,
Left lying,
In the murky,
Puddle water.

*Daunghting realms,
Of forgetful delight,
Causing me,
Too all but,
disintegrate.

Can you run,
Your softened fingers,
Along the outskirts,
Of my brittle bones.

Push them down,
Until they jut out,
And pierce through,
My cracking skin.

Can you hold,
My head under,
The murky depts,
Of darkened water.

Sew my bleeding,
Lips together,
And make sure,
I cannot breathe.