A Beautiful Affliction

It was Tuesday and time for a debate
about politics, the weather or anything
that would inspire an argument
for in the wilted petals of their lives
there was only faded dreams
and vanishing fantasies
left to bloom in a spring,
which has long since lost
any hopes of being stunning.

Theirs was a wasteland
where beauty existed in the dull décor
they were mementos of wishes
before their flowers had more thorns
than the fragrances that gave joy.

But in their stale moments
so far from what they once wanted
the cemetery of their home
felt amazingly comfortable
like a prison with murals on the walls.

It might have been lacking in love,
yet it was all they had left
just spending their time
tried to appreciate the beauty
of what was bizarre and unappealing.

Still embraced because
they fears escape
would leave them
with never finding another person
to share their lives.