Brush Them Away

Withering pedals, they don’t bring tears or regrets, just a farewell as I look away.

Brought growth, created no oath, don’t owe me anything, so I better let go.

Missions still calling, can’t look behind, go when you go, you were never mine, it’s best if I cut you off slowly, can’t look behind, and you’ve made your choice.

I’ll make mine.

Oh, I’ll make mine.


*


Scrub my brain, don’t need pity stains clouding my sky, empty hands in the end what else should I expect?

Motivated, when humans leave, fickle fascinations they dance with in ribbons big smiles, better guard the heart.

Because they’ll make their choices, we can’t interfere, stop panicking, play the cards we have been blessed with.


*


Can’t, look, behind.

They’ll make their choices and it’s time to make mine.

Oh I’ll make mine.

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