I was your "delicate" flower you would jest.
Now these petals are falling and I feel laid to rest.

I don't feel strong, I only feel weak.
A stem without water, leaning and bleak.

I've lost all my sunshine and my roots cling tight.
I don't want to give up the fight.

I feel the rot climb through my soil.
Trying not to fall over, running on this inner turmoil.

I keep searching for sources of light, reaching this way and that way.
Shade is overwhelming my slowly withering bouquet.