Was it love, or was it real?
Confusion washing over me.
The sadness sets, the cruelty known,
A thousand cuts remain unshown.
Wilting wildly, careless, free,
Buried deep where none can see.
Though balanced seasons bring new growth,
It matters not, my wilting rose.
The storms set in, no hands in sight,
Wildness flows through lonesome nights.
And hidden deep within these wilds,
The flowers sing my unheard cries.