The smell of decay rests thick in this room
As the beautiful roses change their hue.
They die silently, nearly unnoticed
Until the stench is unbearable.
A death not cared for,
Nobody shall grieve them.
But they had screamed so hard and so long,
Their voices drowned and muffled throughout the petals,
Never heard, never listened to.
Now presented as a forgotten thought,
A last-minute backstory,
A wasted effort,
An unheard memory.