garden of madness

wilted rose

in a garden of madness,

passing your days

as an outcast-

with no burden to

bare

 

with shame you hang

your head down

your roots

go deeper

making it hard to move

 

little did you know

there were more

like you

 

wilted flower

how you bask

in the sun

living the rest

of your days

In this,

garden of madness

 

you were picked

and cut

to be that flower

in the window.

Restricted.

 

you kept on fighting,

while others looked

down at you in shame

 

once they tended to you

you shined brighter

each and

everyday

 

wilted rose

you grew

to be

as sane as

everybody around you

 

you couldn’t overcome

your written legacy

you dreaded the story

and tried to

write your own

 

in the end

you were all alone

the wilted flower,

in the garden,

one who was

different for the rest.

 

mistreated

misunderstood

pain

and misery

no one unstood

you, wilted flower

 

left on your own

“No pain is greater

than this”

 

time went on

you started to give

no help

alone and broken

“What a fighter”

 

you believed

you were still

that wilted flower

 

you gave in

they cut and

plucked you

from that garden

of madness

 

a shutter of pain

brought upon you

wilted flower

then you were gone

 

no other pain to feel

no sadness

no happiness

that all

ended

goodbye

wilted,

flower

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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