Reappear Dear Flower

What is a little hurt with some beauty?
Fine lines create, mold, make up a definition of forever glory.
My heart is indifferent to the outcome my mind has processed and thought.
Almost like this soft bed has made me numb...
Numb.
A feeling I often wish to be.
A feeling my mind has aquired time and time again.
Only to dump its remains in a river with bricks tied.
Sinking...
Sinking...
Sinking, feeling numb and cold.
And still.
And grey.
No more green.
Pink.
Pink flower.
My mind once a blossom.
Now a tray of dirt and petals that lost their melatonin.
Beauty washed away by the rain falling down my cheeks.
My face.
My chest.
My... creations fade.
My molds fail.
My definition... flat.
Motionless.
Lifeless.