Writing Prompt

Rotting flowers can still smell sweet...

Just like your memory, it's a beautiful lie.

The fragrance of promise before things had to die.

You left me a bouquet of perfectly poised

Half-truths and soft whispers, neatly disguised.

They sit on the counter, the color still bright,

A stunning arrangement beneath the kitchen light.

But look closer, darling—the petals are thin,

There's a fungus, a mold, w...

I am asked why I sleep so much.

If I play my cards right,

I will not dream

And it will feel like death by trial basis.

My search for truth

Brought me to rock bottom.

I kissed the barrel of my father’s shotgun

And prayed for it to end.

Living with the unknown is killing me,

Unleashing a pungent cynicism.

The glass isn’t half empty

Or half full—

It just doesn’t exist.

My attitude stinks,

I’ve ...

Rotting flowers can still smell sweet

Just like poison can taste good

Like pain can be welcoming

Falling can feel like flying

Is there a reason?

I’m not sure

Whos fault?

I don’t know that either

(Sorry for the horrible streak saver. Im trying my best. Imma try to write a lot this weekend tho. 199th writing :>)...

Rotting flowers can still smell sweet,

Even when they’re left to reek.

They still stand tall before they break,

But then they start to fall and ache.

The petals are so soft with silk,

Until they break and start to wilt.

Flowers are stong, and so they must,

Before they all turn into dust....

Our flowers once flourished—

How did petals fall down?,

Tell me why I feel famished,

Why I feel like a clown.

You make my sight bitter,

Cast my eyes to the ground,

Masochistic pleasure

Must be cutting my thorns down.

You make me miss your clouds and rain

Covering the grass in my soul,

A sick sense of pleasure I get,

Questioning if you keep me whole.

Spew my hopes onto dandelions,

And the specks...

the flower in the windowsill had flourished

unfolded petals whispered beauty within ones gaze

inviting each passerby into its flesh

telling tales of supieriority, worth and success

slowly pulling one in its trap

closer and closer

deeper and deeper

harder and harder

capturing one in lullabies of euphoria

because the flower, first noticed

discovered and used innocently

is a drug of silent exhilarati...

Rotting flowers can still smell sweet

An empty girl can still seem so full of life

You can follow the smell of that flower

Only to find the flowers are dead

You can talk to that girl but not see how she lies crying awake in bed

No one wants rotting flowers even if they do smell so sweet

So the empty girl

pretends she’s complete...

I don’t want to die

Not because I want to live

But because I know

How much easier it would be to follow me

For those I know are already struggling

But some nights I wonder

Would they even notice

If one day I wasn’t there

Would they cry?

Would anything change at all?

But even if I wasn’t there still invisible

I can’t take the chance

That one might follow me

That I would hurt som...

Rotting flowers still smell sweet

Broken glass still sparkles

Snapped branches are still strong

Trampled hearts are still tender

And healed scars are still scars...