my poetry day 3: the orchid (can you tell i barely use this)

the orchid

“Alas,” cried the orchid, lovely and fair,

“I dream of something more,”

“As with bated breath I grab my hair,”

“And pull until I rot away back to the floor,”

For once the orchid was pristine and pink,

Passionate and perfect,

One day it was pulled apart till it couldn’t think,

About anything more than what it meant.