A Garden Poem by Lex Cullen

Sitting here.
Inside a garden.
The flowers are beautiful.
Even if most are dead.
These were once alive.
When I used to care.
But the more they wilt.
The more I lose interest.

Sitting here.
Inside a garden.
Where everything is cold.
Cold enough to burn.
Cold enough to numb.
It helped the flowers.
If they felt pain.
When they started to wilt.
The cold was there to help.

Sitting here.
Inside a garden.
Where the darkness devours the light.
Where imperfections are a thing of the past.
And beauty is a myth.

Sitting here.
Inside a garden.
Where I'm at my peak.
And also at my lowest.