A rose without thorns.
A rose so beautiful as yourself. Who dares to clip your thorns? Those you use to protect yourself. Or did you just let them fall off in that lonely dark shelf.
What kind of rose are you?
Where are your sharp pointy thorns?! You were a devil back then, with those long and black horns. They protruded to my core, you stabbed me with a double edge sword that ran through my heart, leaving bittersweet memories and myself wanting for more.
So, let me ask you again
What kind of rose are you?
I see you have bloomed so well but no more thorns to impale. now I’m sitting next to you listening to your tales. I’m sorry to state but I must say farewell. 'What a fine gentleman you have found as your mate

What kind of rose are you now?
I guess you did let go of your thorns. You made me bleed and drop to my knees back then When I tried to carefully carry you, earth and root right off the ground
to make a home for you where you will be safe and sound.
Mother nature gave you that wonderful protection
which is my motivation
to keep going after you, because I know you’re not going to be easily handpicked by anyone.

Hm what a fine gardener he was,
now you’re in vase.
A rose without thorns
Withering without a base
Sooner or later he will think your just a piece of waste.
"Thank you for the view what a wonderful taste"
He would say.
Not I
I would fix your heart and never let it come apart.
So what kind of rose are you?
Are you the kind that has been grown by light
the one that has so much pride but doesn’t fight back?
Or are you the one raised below the shadow struggling your way out of a thin crack.

What kind of rose are you?
Whether you’re a rose whose thorns were clipped or a dead rose drowning in grief there always will be the right person who will protect you
and help you in your needs.

I was born in the 'light'.
A light produced by 5 feet tall mirrors.
 But my shadow was faster ,
and it soon taught me,
these lights shined on to me,
 are shadows with colors,
an art, a paint job of the cult.
But I preferred my shadow to disappear
 in light of the stars.
Where I found my true destiny
The rhythm of my heart,
Marching for what is right.

There goes that wishful swinging
The one so called, a dogs craving.
Her eyes are more than just a look
It tells a story of everything that she took.

The tables squeak their feet
As I wait in the pit
Admiring her hall of fame.
cadavers of lions, that she tamed.

The whip goes back and forth
And the wishful swinging finally subsides
Grinding my teeth with full on remorse
Because it's the rat that hangs by her side.

That awful creature burning her ears
Making stories out of fear
Down her eyes roll the tears
Of the memories in a smear

Careful words placed in her mouth
By the rat's name to his house
With a grain of pleasure he tried to escape
But she was too fast, and she ate

She is the alpha female afterall
Coming in with her legs wide open
Mentioning the lion on call
enjoying life for a moment

She's got the hourglass.
This much is true.
And for a grain of sand
Many lions came through

She's got the hourglass,
but, Money can't buy her time.
It's the pleasure of her class
That became a punishable crime.
To trade in a grain of pleasure
For the wishful swinging's leisure.



......A grain of sand for a bite off my hand.



Not worth it.

Black widow, have mercy on me.
Is it that time again?
I feel safe in the great oak tree.
Trying to restore your fame?
Maybe you want to feel free
Is it me who you want to tame?
Black widow, play with your prey
Is the hour glass part of the game?
I'm a mantis, and you made me pray.
Black widow swing from side to side.
The mantis, your admirer, who is hypnotized.
You prey, and I pray for my pride.
Across the sea until turned tides.
Omnipotent and divine, for once I prey
And you pray on the Sands of time.

Something happens when I open my eyes.
I take a deep breath in as I inhale the lies.
That is the size of my price ,
And when I close them I feel that time flies.

A peaceful newborn unaware of this world,
It feels the breeze of life, a grazing cold,
A blow, alternating the surface of the mold.
Life dealt Its destiny, rejecting it, concocting into a fold.

Its eyes covered in slime.
Crying didn’t help ,
Everything was so intoxicating
So, its vision imprisoned its hearing.

My energy, my life, was degrading slow
while something inside me throbs, and grows.
Eating away at my shell as it begins to glow,
Never feeling so high but at the same time so low.

It’s in pain, looking at the world,
Rolling its eye from side to side.
It spits its teeth out, crying aloud
Of the pleasure that calls from the crowd.

Although painful as it was, I can see how beautiful it is.
Naked from human sight
Pure and ugly, deceiving, and beautiful made from creation
Drowning its self in alcohol, only to preserve its progression.

Hands of string
When I was born into this world,
I was different from the rest
Born with weak hands
Born with broken wings

I’m afraid of becoming my worst nightmare
I develop and feel the adrenaline
The toxic smells in the air
Made me keen of my true nature

A monster grins inside me
I love the way it smiles
I love the way it looks at the world
A mad sensation of mundane desires.

I love the feeling of it
When it scratches away at the shell of me
It begs for freedom when I battle against it
But why? Where is the obligation?

Perhaps I am a *******,
And I want to keep all the pain to myself
I love that feeling, but I also love her
And if I can’t handle it
I’ll have no choice to but
Use my strong hands,
My majestic wings
And my new set of strings to envelope this feeling,
and never let it free.




It keeps scratching away