Always Relating to a Withering Flower

Wilting and dying.
Life evaporates off its pedals.
Standing in place.
Time has started to settle.
Observing the death of this innocent flower,
I look inside at this weakened coward.
The coward has grown,
like this plant once did.
Blooming with strength,
as the seed had spread.
Spreading through my soul,
a poison of malice.
Suffocating my creed,
oh how careless.
As the weed grows around the stem,
stealing its life.
Growing as fast as it can,
causing pure strife.
The eyes of junk that I see through.
Sees only the pain.
The eyes of junk I've allowed.
Distorting my brain.
Just like the flower.
Consumed by death.
Accepting it's fate.
Without distress.
Always relating to a withering flower.
Always withering from this weed's power.