When petals of a wilting rose are plucked
Do not be surprised when all that remains
underneath the gloomy morning dew
i would sit and dream of you
the bleeding hearts
would bloom and dance,
in remembrance of our wilting romance.
even wilted roses have thorns
i've had this phrase in my head for a while now. i used it as a caption for one of my drawings, as i often do.
you said the grass was greener
on the other side.
so you planted flowers
on my insides.
but when flowers aren’t watered,
they’re sure to die.
and they wilted before
you even tried.
This is not refusal of happiness
A desperate plea for attention
It is a manifest of emotion
Not some imaginary invention
There is a madness populating my head
Billions of shouting **** voices
Every one an echo of my own
Spelling my lack of choices
Lately hopeless feelings have grown
A desolate cold orchard
Blossomed a place I belong
I'm welcome but also tortured
I have laid down my roots in quicksand
I'll be withered by afternoon
A pile of wilted petals
Unless I am picked by someone soon
Hands covered in copper,
down by the staircase
near period 5th.
You held my waist
all thoughts wilted away
hands covered in copper
we kissed the bad memories away.
i had my first kiss the other day
Watching sadly as our once beautiful love dies slowly like the flower with it's petals so weak as they fall to the ground. Knowing within the depths of your heart you can't save it or bring it back to life. All that's left to do is pick up the petals like the pieces of your heart and and hope there's a live seed left to replant and grow again one day.
If you leave the petals to soak up the moisture on the ground it's surely to mold the seed, which makes it so much harder to grow another flower from a molded seed. My heart left open to be broken over and over gives it no time to heal, for if it should ever love again., It must get away from the person that's breaking it before it to becomes the molded petal laying on the moistened ground left to mold away.
My heart is much like this moistened petal hoping to be salvaged to love again someday
I always wanted to be a writer.
I wanted to be able to take my thoughts and put them In words, take the Spirographs that are my thoughts and follow the constantly over lapping lines, but it’s so confusing
You see I wanted to be a writer,
but every good writer has had a trauma, some sort of thing they went though, I thought I needed that to be a good writer,
In fact I wanted a darken past.
I wanted to be a wilted willow in sunflowers.
You see I asked for it.
You see I always wanted to be a writer,
I basically asked for it.
All I wanted was a rose
why you loved me on every red petal
Green stem to show the strength of our bond
But in reality
The rose died
The petals wilted and faded
and the stem went hard...
Much like your love for me
life gave her;