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.