My Room

The putrid smell of rotting flowers
Yet I refuse- I must keep looking,
Morning after dreary.

They might turn yellow again,
Lift their heads and
Live, so I am waiting.

I wait for that morning,
I wait for that to be over.
I wait, by myself, for the things
I have loved. I’ll never know
If I’ll ever stop waiting.

By myself, the flowers gray.
Nothing has color or taste.

When I walk into the room
All I see is gray- I know
I’m alone now.

So spare me and
Spare me and
Let me go back
Into my room.