Dead Flowers Grow

When his dead flowers began to bloom he then flourished in a realm of doom
he faded while his stubborn pedals fell to the ground
jaded
He reassured himself he wasn’t tainted
A colorful masterpiece of demented shades
He prances back and forth
A passive aggressive loner for days
Captivated
intoxicated from the haze
his mind uncapable
His vision in remission
held prisoner by no one but himself
He kneels down praying
gasping for air
hollaring for help
As tears begin to flow
He realizes he will forever be alone
Dissolution swallowed his pride
his abundant heart can’t comprehend his remorse
Faithfully he believes that things could be worse
His loyal confidant are the notebook papers filled with his words
His ever so patient spirit which kept him whole and In control
has shattered into a world he believed he didn’t know
Wearing a stoned poker face
He fooled everyone except himself and decided to fold
Bravely he condensed his wrath
Transforming his wildflowersoul
His caramel skin pale
A strong bright eyed male
Barely standing
Courageously frail
On an ocean of regret he sails
On this Voyage his dead flowers alter
Reforming as they prevail

By Jonilee Maldonado