Purpose

I have grown and bloomed,

but my color is wasted.

Unnoticed.

Unwanted.

Untouched.

I gathered my spirit

and threw it atop yours

in hopes that you would yield to comfort

but it instead served as a polish

to make your defenses shine.

Now you mock me,

feeding, multiplying, protecting the darkness

I worked so hard to let out.

The cherished smoke kills you, 

eats at you from the inside,

and you act like it pleasures you.

Alas, my gift remains

unnoticed,

untouched,

wasted

on you.