flowers don't bloom in me anymore, they died a long time ago. but look at the dirt on the floor, where other dead things grow. like prickly desert cactus, or ugly brown grass constant lonely practice staring in the looking glass where'd the colours go that resided in my eyes did they fly with the wind flow whatever they thought wise? do they not hear my cries as they soar in the skies i need motivation down here but instead I'm filled with fear. how do i get to success? ...and when you ask what that means to me i'll tell you lesser stress, a cleaner mess, and this all sounds so blessed when theres facts, nothing to guess. my mind plays games no one else has to play if they knew the rules they'd never stay I've been at it long enough as it eats at my brain but id like to grow back; roll the bowling ball in the other lane. grow my flowers, get back on track, because thats what really should be in me even if i have to whack and thwack, i'll win these games. i want to be free; so i will be.