No-Sun Flower

Pressed into a corner, waiting, waiting—until one day you vanish. Your back against the wall, pressed and pressed—until one day you dissolve into it...

Does anyone keep track of you? Even when you're gone, does anyone weep?

Tell me, where is it written—how a person must live... what they're forbidden to think about... where is that ledger of rules that exists for everyone but me?

I'm fading... slowly, quietly, a person becoming *nothing*... yet no one seems to notice... a flower dying for want of a little sun... yet no one even calls it a flower anymore...

Suddenly I want so badly... for someone to hold me, to ask me to stay, even by mistake... for there to be some small emptiness somewhere that aches for me!