She is loved and so seen,
Yet, she hopes for the end.
She swam with all she's been,
Wishing for soul to ascend.
It's getting harder to breathe,
In every second she blinks.
Her soul is aching to leave,
In every chances, she seeks.
With heart that hates to beat,
In seasons, she'll always wither.
The petal of growth is not it,
She's so mature; she got bitter.
Her very taste feels like crimson,
A majestic picture of spider-lily.
The world she created as an artisan,
Counting her breath; she found deadly.
Thanked her god as she begged,
Her soul wishes to escape.
Pour out signs as she worried,
The petals might feel agape.
xysaoirse