They all ask me if I want to die
How can a dead plant die again?,unless its torched in that case set my body alight.Watch it burn and fade as the smoke melds with the tortured clouds.As my remenants become bad omens to the once blue skies.
Listen to the sizzle of burning skin,as the tears you are forcing come out in inadequate drops.
But no,I am not dead.Not physically but oh how I corrode inside,waiting for the day when all can smell the decay.
I wait for arms to evelop me,if not yours then his or hers.Greedy eyes,I wait for them to drink me but how I am left to wait is a sin on its own.
I wait however,still waiting as my arm burns itself with its own sorrow,I wait and it seems like forever until maybe the moon will be full enough for me to see my reflection and call upon the other lost souls of the world.