Hello, weeping angel.
How are you, fallen star?
Where have you been, thorny rose?
Deflowered
and snapped,
left to turn crisp
and brown
in winter's quiet wake.

How do you feel,
with clouds hugging at your shine,
Cobwebs masking your beauty,
how does it feel
to be destroyed and
shattered by them?
Left in shambles, broken...


Tell me, flower,
how does it feel to die?