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Anastasia 16h
she wore his favorite dress
dark and low cut
short and tight
he sat in the chair
while she walked in circles
he tried to not follow her
but he could resist
she squatted before him
and he tried not to look down
she licked her lips
and stared him in the eyes
he had a withering feeling
like he was
from the inside
she smirked
and sat on his lap
his vision got blurry
his hands started shaking
and the light
his eyes
Claire Sep 19
The flower in the garden
will one day be gone
it may be beautiful now
but it wont last that long
So like a flower one day we will see
In the end, How broken we would be
Poetoftheway Sep 12
will my roots wither if I pull away?

this, incessant self-querying,
the heart pain tug that tugs on a
clockwork-random schedule,
should I pull it up by the roots,
that, the deepest cut of all.

when you obsess, perplexed about responsibility,
about escape, from what you’ve planted,
which came up with thorns unexpected.

the sweat, from the care and feeding,
rankles and saddens, for this
investments sour taste makes you question
your common-sensical nonsensical,

that intersection where the heart and the brain clash fearsome.

this is oft, too oft, how life sinks it teeth
into you, and extracting those thorns,
leaving teeth marks
hurting long long time after
those withered roots get tugged, pulled,

like a pain in the heart that was exorcised,
but couldn’t never be fully excised

hello and goodbye, little flower
the wallops of the sun and moon
the taste of sweet and sour,
why are you fading so soon?

energy never lies
each day, each petal dies
roots that are used to be cherished
zest is slowly beginning to perish

disappearing charisma burst
embosomed by a gloomier thirst
spirals of flourishing passion
stem's propped to percussion

restoring the seeds of fertility
is the perfect tone of sanity
but the sudden gush of calamities
hindered the ray of prosperity

tailored lullabies,
hoping for rain or a battle cry
here's the dream's doom,
for a flower that no longer blooms

the feeling becomes seasonal
a little bit under the weather,
remember the plant that used to grow?
now's colorless and withered
The saddest part of life? Is when your growth stopped for many, unexpected reasons and you got no choice but to fade away and lose energy.
let me wither
Let me die in a corner
Let me wither
I don't  want any water
Let me wither
Take the light take the sun
Let me wither
Without an explanation
Let me wither and die
Hiding emotionally,
physically avoiding,
and verbally masking by lies.

We pretend that we are alright,
turning it all invisible
In the eyes of one other,  
so that we don’t let the worry flow,
so that we don’t let the disappointment brew.
But it flows into the ears of others.

Leaning on their shoulders for comfort,
where comfortability now thrives.
We now look in the eyes
of one another
with body containing secrets,
pretending to be alright
and happy.

I guess,
that’s where the trust started to wither
and comfortability started to fade,
for we found comfort on others shoulders.
Ahnaf Jul 18
A towering wooden frame
Lined with fake lotuses  
Written all over

Here Lovers' promises
Sit unscathed, untested

Words etched
In just a single moment of love
Live forever
As love elsewhere dies away
Sara Svensson May 22
flowers wither
new ones will grow
in their place
this much I know

the strength to keep going
this year I have lacked
but a flower I am
like a flower I will; grow back
muteD Apr 27
and to wilt
parallel a flower.
I sag,
I flap
and I flop.
but never flip.
in truth!
I am decaying.
because they starved me
and corrupted my seed.
before i knew it
the fusarium wilt
was my disease.
someone could’ve cured me,
watered me.
but instead of
dried me
into crumbs of
nothing but dust
that decided to fly away
with the breeze.
to wilt is to wither away into nothing.

and to go faint
as in, to become dull.
that whimsical light is
erratically the same
yet never enough.
it is distorting and
it contorts
my colors.
my ambience is
by the Eclipse of-
how can I grow
when no (sun)light is
raining unto my path?
witness as I go
from this vibrant color
to a washed out gray.
I stood in the mirror
with the girl who wears my face
and I watched it drain.
with death looming over
her shoulder
and no angel in sight..
to go faint would be to wither and drown in my own cries.

and to rot.
all day, around the clock.
I am that sad flower
hiding in your *** .
unable to be set ablaze
by the radiant light,
called love.
so I sit
and I wait.
I rest my leaves
in defeat.
it seems as though
I might be granted this reprieve.
and the truth is I was murdered
long before I decided to **** me.
I used to be
I was fresh
untouched by filth.
but now I am
with mold
like bread and milk.
so beware of the signs
for this infectious malady,
it might be contagious.
and in truth,
a remedy
could be made for me
or so they tell me.
what they don’t understand
is I already tried.
I tried to comply
and I tried to rest my eyes.
yet the only thing prescribed
are these drugs
with the death of my mind
being the main effect,
on the side.
to rot would be to not only wither away but also to die.
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