The tulip has wilted in a hopelessly unfair...despair,
in a pink powder like weak fragility of partially disappeared shiny lipstick
dry, draggy and clumpy.
Many have been consumed and most have been lived through.
Kissed and drained.
Ornamented crowds have fleeted
and many have been lost
vanished and gone.
Wealth, health and glamour all expired with fleeing memories.
Shiny carnival glasses just hold worn out and deceased bodies leaving spirits aloof
skulls shall now smile inadvertently, not minding the sand running through the neck one hour after another
all the tulips, even the purple ones, have withered