30 Cycle
“roses are red...”
just like how we bleed
we’re stuck in this cycle
trying to recycle
to reuse the same lines
for every the same lies
the aftermath is in our poetry
twisting our very own story
and now we’re both left
trying to figure out
each and every petal
on “what ifs” we settle
i’m tired, i’m tired
of reading between the lines
guessing which are lies
words remained unspoken
leaving us more than broken