The last petal has fallen into ashes, all that is left is a crown-less stick of bloody thorns.

Shaken by unbreakable fears and unstoppable tears. Locked away from sun, from rain, with filthy mirrors inside an empty bottle.

Bent by feels too loud for soul to hold, bound by thoughts too fast for ink to keep up with.

Lost yet another fight to life; yet still somehow, standing there.

Waiting for fate’s blade to deliver the last blow.

✍ ജിത്തു