It's nothing like last time.
Concrete.
Roses can grow from between the cracks,
but no seed lies beneath, waiting to be
watered and pampered. Through strife,
a nonexistent plant might spring
and leave the place which it calls home,
but since it isn't there, no cares.
It's nothing like last time.
There's no special coating,
no instant connection.
Sparks may fly in your head
but fire lay stagnant in others.
Take it from the hearth.
fill your soul with magma,
and burn it all down.
Growth lives not here.
It's nothing like last time.