Crushed

I lay here on the road,

Crushed and damaged,

My plastic body is ripped,

Rose petals and ferns are decayed,

Some lie close to me; of some I have no idea,

How much appealing I looked earlier,

I am unaware about my purpose,

Maybe the red flowers are a symbol of love?

Great fragrance I gave before,

But now my soul is rotten, it is torn,

As I introspect a cyclist runs over me,

I scatter more; can a non-breather be truly free?

But what do I know for I am just a crushed bouquet lying on the road.