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As the rose dried up it ignited the thought of a dreamer that was aching for its brim, the shards of petals were hurting me, it was painful, yet satisfied by how it created a distraction, The stem connected where it should be my pillar is no longer there, it did not stand up for me at a bit and left me hanging from what may cause this illness, I keep on telling myself that things are going to be better, that it is not what the almighty wanted and this is just a piece of his bigger plan but how long would it take for me to endure this? 

The roots are dying and so am I, the passion that motivated me is gradually renouncing, I do not wish to be like this but I have no strength against a ton of illnesses that I have. The thorns that should keep me safe are no longer visible and of no use to me, the barrier that once my protection exposed me naked compromising half of my decayed presence, the wilted rose that once stood up for its beauty is slowly disregarded for it is weak and it can't survive the harsh environment, the tragic truth lamentable.