Dying Flowers......

Dying flowers,

Wilted like my soul.

Dry and brittle,

Like my mind.

Twisted and broken,

Like my insides.

Have I a heart that pounds,

Or a heart that cries out?

Like a flower in it's last days,

Weeping for the life they missed.

I weep for the freedom that comes,

When dying.

A dying flower,

Too dead to stand.

A dying soul,

Too dead to change.

I'd call myself a dying flower,

But at least the flower will be free,

While I stay here chained in hell,

The flames devouring my dry and brittle soul,

Leaving me curled up in a fatal position,

Trying to disappear into a void where it'll all go away.

I envy that dying flower.