the little girl and the flower

The little girl found the white flower too
She touched it and it gifted her with a petal soft and warm
She held it next to her cigarette
Drank it in
For a moment it quelled the red pen the black eyes
Lines of emptiness.
We are not filled up
Not like the little girls downstairs
They are touched softly
like children
arms soothed shoulders rubbed hands held
warm soft petals of care of helping.
Nobody touches us.
We reach out in screams and bangs
We throw out edges hoping for a gentle return.
But no one can be mustered to smooth us
weknowweknow we have always known.
We are the ward where nobody visits
Where we calcify and rust.
We are thorns.
The rough soil that strangles the flower.
I am so thirsty.
Empty.
I hitch my jeans.
I am losing.
I am losing everything.
Soon the white flower will be empty too
All the petals spent.
Our hands will stay empty.
And the cold will be etched on us forever.