Tears that burn roll down my cheeks.
I can see the blurred outline of red and yellow roses,
now dead and lifeless, weeping like I am,
begging to be free.
What once was your final attempt at an apology is nothing
but a memory, a reminder of the inevitable.
Broken souls kept in a cage slowly withering and wasting away,
wishing they had gotten to breathe
the air they believed should be filled
with their beauty and perfume.
What once was filled with potential
has been smothered until there was nothing left
except for a blurred outline of red and yellow roses,
and tears that burn.