Standing in the empty field
The sky darkened with clouds
The rain pours heavy like tears
The high grass grown from years
The ground ashen grey
Nothing left but decay
The earth is sick
With out wind the air is thick
A humid cold chill
Running through my veins, My heart beat still
My lips blue an unhealthy attraction
I think of my unwanted reactions
In a field of morbid despair
The only living thing, a dandelion, there
White and seedy as if to be planted
I hoped it could help my wish be granted
Picking the last living thing from the ground
My lips puckered so, not making a sound
I blew as hard as I could
The seeds flying everywhere as they should
Perhaps someone will hear my message
Or even my Prayer
As I hit the dust
With my last breath I stare
I hope something will grow
This undying is my last hope
Let these seeds be the antidote
Honorable mention
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