I am the wilted flower

Rotted to my core

I lack the simple beauty

Of the living flower, so pure

Sitting in a room I think

And try to be another

 Yet when I see my reflection

All that looks back

Is the wilted flower

Devoid of color

And broken in two

Crackled and delicate

Like an old woman

With wrinkled skin and bony hands

Hidden under a mask of youth

Thirsty I am

For the spring of life

How I long for that healing water

To pour over my wretched body

To cleanse my dirtied soul

Dangling I can see it

My salvation

My life

So close to my stem

Yet so far from my grasp

As I struggle it only pushes farther away

And I become less

Scarred and pained

No one can hear my cries

For I am the wilted flower

So many more just like me

Only more alive

So many brighter

With aromas that steal your breath

So why would anyone care

If I dried up in the corner

And died