turquoise flowers lined with white
remind me that i’m alone tonight
they stare at me, unpeculiarly
as if they know that part of my existence isn’t right
right for love, right for closeness, not devotion but moroseness
is the key, its just me, simply who i’m supposed to be
maybe its greatness, perhaps sedateness
doesn’t matter what the trait is
just that they know and so do i
and it seems that they know why
a secret i can’t know but i can try
but the flowers cannot lie
so cruel these flowers will never die
and i forever will be i