Sometimes we lose ourselves in the rush of time and push ourselves too hard.
Lose sleep, lose friends and lose our minds.
Covering up the pain just like we cover up those undereyes.
We are fragile, just like glass.
But we tend to forget that glass can crack.

If only the Roses in me would not wither,
slowly losing all their leaves,
how crumbled they look - like old leather,
longing for their Gardener