Is it too much to dislike watching plucked flowers slowly dying in vases?
Sweet petals follow my thirst, come die in the path I'm taking, to bloom the colors of May and to burn in crimson and gold.
In the gushing of his dreams, he strummed the breeze, calming the dark nights from the loud whispers of pain.
Muted hearts and cotton candy skies, awaiting the sweet summer rain in the silence of midnight whispers, to shout before the sunset ends.
Red roses unfurled bright fires by the footsteps of the dead, embers bleed in candlelight orange as it fades into the night.
Bereaving of the death of love, embraced by the cold winters of the absence, to beg and to have failed.
Your warmth are in my dreams and in sleep I will not wake up.