I'm emo now apparently.
He is a tulip. Alive and happy when the sunlight shines upon him. But by night, he closes down, and cries. Releasing what he suppresses every day.
He is the fire. Gives off light and warmth. But also gives off signs of danger and harm.
He is the rain. The splashing in puddles, digging for worms. But he the distant crying of a higher power.
He is sad. He smiles for others, But never for himself.
He is dead. he can't take it any longer.
He is remembered. By the ones he loved, and those who didn't think to show they loved him back.
What the heck? I can write poetry now? What the Fudge?
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