burnout
pushing through a rat race
the roses in my hand withered away, they
hung their heads,
tired of the weight.
a victim of life,
became a
tyranny of their
own fantasy,
betrayed by their own petals.
sickled by their stems
I’ll be in the sky
They told each other, I can’t be like
the grass.
yet the grass became their grave
and the sky their slayer.


Life is funny that way. Very well written
Beautiful <3