Garden of Misery

Small sprouting flower;
Dark forbidden power.
Within my tender hand,
A final, quavering stand.

Blooming magic and sparkles of hate;
Weaving my own twist in the thread of fate.
The stem of the flower suffers a crack,
I'll never get my shattered innocence back.

I cry with unfulfilled lust,
But there's only ancient rust.
The culmination of my ending life
Has revealed only ceaseless strife.

If I chose wrong,
It's because I wasn't strong.
But I never had a choice at all.
Thus I falter, and finally fall.