Bells chirp underneath the sound waves, loud and proud. The color turning red as it slowly turned purple in the color spectrum, dulling over time.
Bark inches closer, in search for the sun. Thick and heavy, only with the right amount of tools can cut it clean.
Growing hideous during the winter time, the poor branches are there to provide a shelter for animals that steal what they cannot produce.
Stark white snow gleaming against the sun as they block the wilting plant, waiting for another chance to flaunt what they once had.
The branches discolorations was a dead giveaway that it wouldn't last long.
Is this another goodbye?
Or is the anticipation killing you?
Who knows, Who cares.
You are the flower, sure you look pretty now but you can't withstand the mere thought of the cold. Grasp with your branches closer to hide your weakness but you know under all that, you are nothing.
Nothing but a cell.
YOU ARE READING
Out Of Order
PoetryPerturbed. Anxiety awaits those who can't distinguish between actions or emotions, therefore never implying what she thought was important. Animosity. Apart from her balancing on the tight rope, resentment tipped her over and down she goes. Deep int...
