In the corner it watches, lost in its own mind.
It sees things others can't, and experiences only itself.
Its vines can grow and grasp, but it's never really attached
Because things it clings to never stay for long.
So it wilts in the corner, weeping sap and nectar
Hoping for the bee to save it
Hoping for the sun to save it
Hoping for itself to save it.
All the onlookers look on, never noticing its dew.
The others dance and laugh, never trying to get through.
But then the fateful day comes, the flower's gone away.
The big black ink on Sunday says it every way.
Its "friends" come to see it, tied up in a box
They see the dirt around it, remember all the "not's"
Cameras capture sorrow in gray and white and black
But no one here has ever cut the flower slack.
The stem forever poisoned, the leaves forever rot
In that unhappy purgatory, everyone's forgot.
So another flower grows its bud along the same damned wall
No one tries to change it, in the same way it will fall.