"what it could have been"

I hold a vase

with a wilting flower,

it is overflowing

with what could be

its hydration

but what once blossomed refuses

any more.

Another day passes,

a clock makes a cycle

and another clock rests,

frozen in time.

A whistling noise

fills the air

and I stop.

I drop the pencil from one hand

and the yoga mat from the other,

all I hold now is the vase

and all I remember

is when they told me

that I could do

anything

and obligated me to do

everything.

The lights dim

and the solace the room offers

is the only thing I can cope with,

the only thing I can be.