As beautiful as a flower may appear to be, don't ever describe me with a simile associated with them;
Withering petals can never represent my dying soul,
as they fight against gravity collecting spacedust.
Prickly thorns can't carry my resentment towards fate's
ability to twist the very fabric of nature.
Scents triggering ruthless endorphin is a defective comparison
to the immaculate temper I'm ready to spay.

Instead compare me to the sky;
Let the cover of the night bear witness
as I smother your hope with darkness.
May gathering clouds form an angry storm,
striking you down with my wrath in a thunderous fashion.
Trickling rain water running amok down the drain
like an agape wrist parallel to a faulty faucet
Vast and limitless, that of the sky and my mind
Alas my sanity, I've lost it.

So don't compare me to a gentle flower blowing in the breeze.
I am the sky, forever lingering with ease.





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