Among the roses lie the dying flowers, broken into pieces, searching for life. The life has left them and all that is left are the wilted petals. So many layers to this flower but we only choose to see it as dying, we do not wish to pick this flower because it’s not “beautiful”. The flower cries out to be picked, cries out to be pretty too. Cry out flower, someone will hear you someone will replenish your roots with water. Someone will save you, if you are worth saving. Someone will heal you if you produce the scent that they want. Someone will pick you but should you be picked? Cry out until your tears make you grow again. Cry out until you bloom.