Wallflower

It does not pay to be a wallflower,

Not with thoughts such as my own.

Not with eyes that stare at the door.

Not with a mind that begs for more.

There is a path I follow that my mind treads alone.

The same path that leads home.

The same path that listens.

The same path that sheds hope.

No matter the spectacle, expectations fall short.

For it is not the event that elicits excitement.

But it’s people.

A plethora of infinite connections.

That seem infinitely limited.

But who is to blame but myself?

A wallflower that seeks no water

That lies in no soil.

Roots grasping deep into bricks,

Gently reaching for something beyond

Too afraid to clasp,

To advance to the next world.

Seeking an exit from isolation

Reaps only a further loneliness.

Attracts only an air of emptiness,

Consuming the lungs which inhale it.

No, it does not pay to be a wallflower.

Perhaps there is no life beyond this wall.

Perhaps to covet such notions

Is the genesis of blood.

It does not pay to wonder.

For what could ever be, must.

What should be is.

And what a wallflower may wish,

Shall never come to fruition.