Pick me up,
And open my cover,
But be careful,
Cause I might crumble,
Read my fine print,
Just don’t mock the way I am,
I’ve been through alot since then,
Drugs,
Fights,
Heart breaks,
And more,
Are all the things you’ll find,
In my novel.

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?

Ive found a new type of loneliness
One that can be felt in a crowd
Surrounded by people i dont know
Like a storm in a sky of fluffy clouds

Ive found a new type of loneliness
One that can be felt with friends
Feeling so worthless
I hope that this ends

Ive found a new type of loneliness
One that i know will never stop
Itll jeep going and going
Until the second I drop

I look forward to that day

One word and a forgotten ache

Starts to burn

One sentence and I wish I

Could've learned

So many mistakes in life

Such a disgrace

I see a name and feel such

Overwhelming shame

Forcing my brain to give in til

I'm going insane

I can't help but remember when

Flower petals were a sign of innocence

Until one by one they chose to fall

When I was young I used to fit in

But now I stand out most of all

I remember when I had friends

But now I have none by my side

I remember when I could stare at the sun

But now away from its glare I shy