Burning Flower

The flower that yearns to bloom,
Burns in decay everyday;
Scared like a child in noon,
Plucked by the wind too soon.
The flower is your youth,
Frightened by the wind of truth!;
It catches weeds of addiction,
To escape wind facing deception.
After noon like the moon,
You feel lonely and stray,
Pulling the wrong strings too soon.
You are a burning flower,
And you choose how in every hour;
To blossom or to ignite fire,
To either decay in drugs,
Or to live and be tough.