Flowers and blooms, this is all I think
Rainbows and magic, it’s all I contemplate
But when I look in a mirror, what stares back makes my heart sink
And I recall the thorns that have sprung in my soul of late
Happy, dancing, prancing, singing,
Withering, sighing, grieving, crying,
I show the former out there, and hide the latter in here stinging
A meadow for everyone to see, but for me a barren land dying
Tears fall not; they have all been wasted out
Whence my heart burst its leak, they flooded out instantly
I can only cry blood till my veins know the drought
And then my parched body will torture me relentlessly
I cannot rehydrate myself in body to mend me
I will lose those precious drops too, to my sickness of grief
I loose my tears like vapor, and I am loosing blood quickly
Will I become a ghost of a dead girl… When I have nothing left to weep?
Poetry