The thing about flowers is that they wilt with seasons, like love and its many reasons, the lies tilt through greater beyonds, no more forever and afters, illusions of joy and laughters, corruption of sons through daughters and the decay of whats moral and upright.
A flower has many colours, but its only on decay that one would see its true worth, long after the price is sought, it is revealed its worth in rot.
No comments:
Post a Comment