and to wilt
parallel a flower.
I sag,
I flap
and I flop.
but never flip.
in truth!
I am decaying.
starving
because they starved me
and corrupted my seed.
before i knew it
the fusarium wilt
was my disease.
someone could’ve cured me,
watered me.
but instead of
mollifying
they
mummified
me.
dried me
into crumbs of
leaves.
nothing but dust
that decided to fly away
with the breeze.
to wilt is to wither away into nothing.

and to go faint
as in, to become dull.
that whimsical light is
erratically the same
yet never enough.
it is distorting and
it contorts
my colors.
my ambience is
disrupted
by the Eclipse of-
WAIT.
how can I grow
when no (sun)light is
raining unto my path?
drip
       drip
               drop.
    stay.
witness as I go
from this vibrant color
to a washed out gray.
I stood in the mirror
face-to-face
with the girl who wears my face
and I watched it drain.
with death looming over
her shoulder
and no angel in sight..
to go faint would be to wither and drown in my own cries.

and to rot.
all day, around the clock.
I am that sad flower
hiding in your *** .
unable to be set ablaze
by the radiant light,
called love.
so I sit
and I wait.
I rest my leaves
in defeat.
it seems as though
I might be granted this reprieve.
and the truth is I was murdered
long before I decided to **** me.
I used to be
unseasoned.
I was fresh
untouched by filth.
but now I am
spoiled
with mold
like bread and milk.
so beware of the signs
for this infectious malady,
it might be contagious.
and in truth,
a remedy
could be made for me
or so they tell me.
what they don’t understand
is I already tried.
I tried to comply
and I tried to rest my eyes.
yet the only thing prescribed
are these drugs
with the death of my mind
being the main effect,
on the side.
to rot would be to not only wither away but also to die.