In the devoid abyss
sits a withering flower,
whose petals fall and fade.
The static only growing louder.

With every life born,
a petal is bred anew.
Overflowing potential,
chances so very few.

With every life wasted,
it grows another thorn.
Harnessing and feeling
the heart being torn.

It welcomes another
to the dream domain,
attempting to restore
what couldn't be sustained.

Another...