in its solitude
a rose silently wilts

with ostensible vision
the skulls watch with lifeless eyes

the paper on which they both decay pays no mind

ever stead fast they become something they never anticipated
that being
dead and lifeless to the ones they left behind

begging a curious eyes attention to the direction of their new story

peering introspectively at their fragile
yet striking forms

they question to no truth

the rose will darken a heart and rot
as its their nature

the skull will turn a blind eye and to dust
as is its nature

and the paper will still pay no mind

because in that moment of its weakness
the history of their decaying shells are wiped from its canvas

immortalized in forgotten words