why are withered flowers beautiful?

My skin is dry and my lips are chaped, but it feels like home. My hair and my nails are brittle, I feel my health is failing, slowly, I envision myself caving in, receeding, shrinking, disappearing. Fall is coming, whimsical fall. Spring is to birth as fall is to Death, but only Death is capitalized. I am not eating and not hungry, then eating and nauseous, too very nauseous. I am so close to that one-hundred-pound barrier, so close, and even closer now. I pretend not to notice, I pretend it isn't on purpose, but I am edging ever closer to that fine line between health and disease, between sanity and insanity. More and more I think of it, I can already taste it, barely touch it, I am almost there... Some things aren't important anymore. Mother, not important, her feelings are not to be considered, because she wants this as much as I do. Friends, not important, they have their own problems to tend to. Driving, not important. Happiness, not important. I am losing everything I hold onto; either it leaves me of its own accord, or I turn against myself, and the splendor is gone, the interest is gone, the attachment is gone, and I leave it. Under the guise of modern poetry I can get away with everything. Books school running thoughts writing music, important. Must resist the attempts to guilt me into breaking down. Must resist the nighttime panic attacks. Must resist this loss, this new-come loss, must survive the mourning, must find a way around the pain, around the fear, around the past the future the now, around my body, around what is wrong, and it is so wrong, and around the loss. This is my game and I play by my rules, what I say goes, and if I say truths are lies and lies are truths then they are. I don't need to believe in anyone but myself, because I have my own world and no one needs to know. No one needs to know anything at all. That is the key. The stillness and the frenzy and the panic and the violence and the hatred they will all blend into one simple desire, the desire to end all desires in the most beautiful way. I want to know why withered flowers are beautiful. I think this might be the way.