Wilted Rose

I am unloved. I am filled with hate. I live for the day someone sees past the insecurities plastered on my flesh. Will that come to the light of day? Or will I be shamed into the silence of my own fears of never being able to love one’s self forgetting to even try to love another? Silence in the new millennial’s presence. Building self-oppression's of melancholy. Why so pale? A stone-cold persona awakes in my lasting breaths shallow swallows of my denied beating heart. Each thrust pulsing against my chest. The site of knowing. The knowledge of never forgetting what is to become. That something leads to nothing. We long for the day love fills our hearts. But what happens if that day never comes to a clear understanding? Looking to the ones who have found the filling cement known as infatuation. It’s a game we play to end the weakened among us. Hear my cries. Each tear reveals a memory containing instant proof that others can’t seem to grasp. Time is indeed of the essence. If only Alice could same me from my own rabbit hole of sufferance. I continue to slip out of the hands of what’s holding onto me so tight to the presence of unwanted thoughts. Playing the instant slip to this very last second of my now frozen lips colder than any man unloved by solemn winter. This was never a fairy tale. But an insight to ones life.to how I’ve become the stone-cold porcelain dying in the inside freezing to touch. As you may have not understood. I am unloved, I am poison. Study me, breathe into me, live within me.