the other day I picked a flower
It was a long walk home
I like this one because it smells nice
But I don't really like flowers
I don't know it's name
Nor am I aware of its connection to the tree
By the time I got home
It Looked tired.
Didn't smell as nice anymore
It made my journey good though.
But I didn't notice
That it started dying
From the moment I picked it.
It kept its smile and never lost face
And it made it seem okay
To take it along with me
Now it's dead
Because it lied.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:30 PM UTC
the other day I picked a flower
It was a long walk home
I like this one because it smells nice
But I don't really like flowers
I don't know it's name
Nor am I aware of its connection to the tree
By the time I got home
It Looked tired.
Didn't smell as nice anymore
It made my journey good though.
But I didn't notice
That it started dying
From the moment I picked it.
It kept its smile and never lost face
And it made it seem okay
To take it along with me
Now it's dead
Because it lied.
Let it mean anything to you, or nothing. But here it is.
