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Wilted Flower
Wilted flower,
crushed by the pouring rain,
it can't stand up much longer,
can't bare the pain.
it'll never live to to the expectations,
and again,
it'll never bloom.
so the wilted flower dies alone,
embracing it's impending doom.
The sun comes out,
but the flower is not warm-
it's still chilled from that summer storm.
The petals turn black,
slowly loosing it's luster,
from the depths of its being,
beauty, it can't muster.
Strength,
it has no more,
fate has sealed that open door,
so the wilted flower,
is left to die,
and no one heard it's last good-bye.
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sometimes we all just feel so alone, and i think maybe at many different points we feel like this flower, but hopefully there's that place we can go after we've suffered alot and want to give up. but we have to keep speaking and writting and dreaming even if no one can hear you. one day some one will, and maybe you can help them.