The thing about a flower..is beauty til death
It lives with grace, as it dies in that vase
You may only wear your beauty because of pressure
Make-up veils the truth
but I see your eyes, as if life is dying inside of you
Stunning the way you hide it
You are deeper than any well
Enthralled with such elegance
Like a bug, I feel fatally lured into your luminescence
But up close, I peer into your petals of agony
Others too often hover the surface, your look induces the chase
Externally masked, ironically you put off what you hate
Composed well since you first blossomed
So no one see’s your depth
You die slow yearning for trust and true love..
But you don’t love yourself
You feel like an object, a prized possession, a visual gift
Lauded after because of your appearance
Shallowly preserved, slowly wilting away within time
Dying slowly as you stand brilliantly flushed
The thing about a flower
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