The Plight of Those You Left Behind

Memories flood back, like shards of glass with your blood gently pressed through the cracks. Pain that you harbored back then has manifested, now there's no time to react. You gotta get a grip on your shit or you'll be stuck again, but alas, did it ever really end? This is the plight of those you left behind. Withered like flowers left in the sun to dry. Rotten carcass, terrified. Souls bleed in the dead of night. A pale sunset for the blind: misery redefined. Rose petals turn to dust in your hands. A metaphor, quite simply, for the compromise. The plight of those you left behind