Like a rose, I bloomed to wilt,

To shrivel against the echoes of the past and vows of tomorrow.

May I be audacious enough to beg for forgiveness, mother;

For being the disappointment that I am.

Forgive me, mother;

For I am no phoenix able to rise again from my ashes.

Forgive me,

For I know it must ache to see me turn out the untuned string of your harp.

It is not you to blame,

For I too wish to had lost the game,

Long before by getting swallowed by your womb's flame.