You're born
fresh,
innocent,
like flowers just picked,
in a small delicate vase.

You grow into a little tot.
Get a few
bumps and bruises
but you're still just as innocent.
And the flowers,
still as beautiful.

In the blink of an eye,
you're a big kid.
More bumps and bruises appear,
maybe you're a little,
tiny bit worn down.
And the flowers,
in the moments before wilting.

Next thing you know,
you're a royally ****** up teenager.
Life has had a go at you.
All you are is bumps and bruises.
And the flowers, wilted,
almost completely dead.

An adult,
you're all grown up.
Life rewards you for making it.
You get to become
completely numb.
And the flowers,
dead.