in its solitude
a rose silently wilts
with ostensible vision
the skulls watch with lifeless eyes
the paper on which they both decay pays no mind
ever stead fast they become something they never anticipated
that being
dead and lifeless to the ones they left behind
begging a curious eyes attention to the direction of their new story
peering introspectively at their fragile
yet striking forms
they question to no truth
the rose will darken a heart and rot
as its their nature
the skull will turn a blind eye and to dust
as is its nature
and the paper will still pay no mind
because in that moment of its weakness
the history of their decaying shells are wiped from its canvas
immortalized in forgotten words
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 3:26 AM UTC
in its solitude
a rose silently wilts
with ostensible vision
the skulls watch with lifeless eyes
the paper on which they both decay pays no mind
ever stead fast they become something they never anticipated
that being
dead and lifeless to the ones they left behind
begging a curious eyes attention to the direction of their new story
peering introspectively at their fragile
yet striking forms
they question to no truth
the rose will darken a heart and rot
as its their nature
the skull will turn a blind eye and to dust
as is its nature
and the paper will still pay no mind
because in that moment of its weakness
the history of their decaying shells are wiped from its canvas
immortalized in forgotten words
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