You’re so beautiful,
I tell them, as the pinks turn to a darker purple hue.
Like a heart that’s been bruised;
Dying for me.
Wilting, captive in my room.
Are they not supposed to be singing,
Beneath the glow of the moon?
I feel sorry for them,
As I’ve been in their shoes.
Flowers that bloom bountifully are cut,
To add to someone else’s view.
I wait a moment, and grieve the lives lost;
Even as a flower — to be in this life
Comes with a cost.
