like a rose,
left alone in some
corner of the room-an empty room.
left alone-
deprivation of water
and sunlight,
the elements of survival.
most of all,
deprived of love.
it's petals shrivelled,
and withered,
as one by one,
they start to fall.
nothing beats being loved.
nothing beats being taken care.
there comes a time,
whereby we like the rose,
left to die.
pity not being its death itself,
but having to witness something once
so beautiful,
into one of decadence.

and so there comes a time,
when we like the rose-
is left to die.
unloved, untaken care of,
and slowly,
losing its last ounce of
spirit to live.