Lying at my feet the outstretched remains of where I was,
silhouettes fragmented beyond their holding.
Naïve in the realization that this could have been
retained any longer than this.

I kept it within this vase, never watering it hoping
it would wither, but somethings don't die.
Petals would dwindle and stagnate where they
had collected in the shallow corners of dejection.

Jagged portraits painted on the ground were fading
to nothingness. As I walked away that vase of
depleted meanings, of fading desolation now were
singular from me.
                     I was never holding it again, I'm now free.