I am a dead rose,

There might have once been beauty,

And light inside me.

But it is long gone.

A heart that once bloomed with hope,

Is now brown, shriveled.

Flowers on a grave,

Once watered with tears and grief,

Rotten with neglect.

No one’s left to grieve,

The person I might have been,

Who I might become.

Who might I become?