Blood Stained Orchid

In the same, faceless situation,
I am left alone; wrapped in nothing
but a blanket of skin, the warmth of tears
and a dysfunctional heart for comfort.

Remembrance remains of a heart going up in flames
and again how the fire was murdered
by the same, merciless breeze
that would always come to pass

In nakedness and vulnerability
There held a beauty unimaginable
And incomparable to the efforts
Put forth by any mask set to face the world

With nothing but porcelain
to cover the wounds of scars to be
and blood to be spilled and absorbed
by the sun, which is so longed for
to the extent where one begs
for eternal sleep in hopes to see
the elegance that overcomes the black and dismal cage
that is darkness.

To be a orchid once
And then morphed and mutated
Into a crimson coloured dandelion
Who’s only wish is to be as cherished
As the once beautiful flower
Is a pain so utterly unbearable and underestimated
That insanity follows death.

For even in a light of heavenly proportion
Am I to be damned and cast into darkness
Yet again and see light flash before my soul
And slowly drown in distance.

May I rest one day in knowing
That maybe one day
I will be seen as not a weed
Hated and hunted
But rather a blood stained orchid
Planted in a death bed
Wishing for salvation.