Withering Rose

As I have said before, I am still sick. But just because my life isn't as dismal as it should be, the flu has decided to tackle me, literally. I was feeling fine today, because school always makes me feel better. Then, suddenly as I sat at lunch, it hit me. I recognized it by my sour stomach, headache, dizziness, and the fact that I was ready to pass out and the room was spinning. I stumbled to the office after refusing help from anyone. I almost fell a few times, but I did manage to call my grandmother to have her pick me up. After getting my stuff I ended up sitting in the office, and was out cold by the time she got there. Unfortunately, she decided that since she was going to be picking me up anyways she might as well car pool anyone who wanted to run errands. So, I ended up sleeping in her van for another hour before they were done with their things. When I finally did get home I immediately passed out on my bed and lay curled up in the same position for four hours.
My half-sister, Brittany, woke me up when she got home. Since my parents stayed out late, I ended up watching her for another four hours. I don't believe I have ever talked about her, other than grouping her with the other heathens here. She's really not that bad when she does what I ask, which isn't much. I'm not a tyrant. She is nine now (I've finally gotten close enough to her to remember her age). She's tall, about to head spans shorter than me, with blonde hair and green eyes. She's a tomboy, and has a lot of my interests. Including: our pets, video games, computers (I think I will introduce her to roleplaying and writing in a few years), drawing, hiking, and though she has slight dislexia she is getting fairly good grades now. I spent most of my time watching her writing and helping her with video games. I really don't mind her that much anymore. Though I think it's rather funny that she admitted that she listens to be and not our parents: 1) Because I am her sister. 2) I put her in time out if she's bad. 3) I am nice to her now.
The final news is that I have come up with yet another story. One several of my friends are anticipating. I don't think I will tell you what it is about, but I will show you a poem I came up with that has to do with it.

Withering Rose

My beautiful rose,
Oh beautiful rose,
As she grow sickly,
Her petals close,
Her cherry lips,
Once full and sweet,
Cannot give kisses,
And to talk is a feat,
She withers quietly in her bed,
No complaint will she utter still,
Never again will I see my rose,
Blooming in life's great thrill,
Her leaves are shed,
Her stem grows weak,
And all that I think,
Is 'I'll never hear my lovely rose;
Laugh softly or speak,
Her gardens wither, her gardens cry,
As her light grows dim,
Her heart has been broken, and she'll never,
In love's full splendor swim,
She begs for me to leave her here,
But I can't leave her to die,
She weeps for her broken heart,
And all I do is lie,
How could I ever betray her like this?
I've cheated and I've lied,
And all for a different kiss,
It's something I can't hide,
Even though her heart is broken,
My withering rose loves me still,
Her love will not die, even in death,
Though I rather think mine will,
As the day goes by,
My Rose's soul fades a little more,
Her pain may be great right now,
But perhaps release lies in store,
The chickerel weeds grow strong and fresh,
As my rose breathes her last breath,
Though they'll grow strong and flourish,
All that awaits my rose is death.