Adequately passionate, With tender calescent eyes. The flower disintegrates slowly, The disgrace of her own demise. Pushing forth with desire, Slowly withering away. No one picks her up or bothers, Waterless year days. Despair and shame bestowed upon, Unspeakable acts of hush matters. Fighter till the end, No will as it shatters. Dry and calloused petals, Drying since she blossomed. Heroine and Angel to me, Just a moribund flower to some.