I wish I could write just as easily as my breath flows.

The red rose on my chest
shows the life that I left.
So much love I wanted to give,
it was my reason to live.
But thorns were caressing me,
loving and hurting me,
leaving scars on my skin.
I covered them in darkness
and tried to smile
but kept screaming within.
Forgotten, unloved, broken...
a dying heart.
Now everything that's left of me
is this red rose on the chest
of a frostbitten soul.

What if every little thought
That lives inside your head
Instead of hiding away in there
Was spoken out, was said?

Would you be embarrassed?
Would you hate your mouth?
Would you rather be mute
Than let the truth come out?

What if every little thing
That people thought of you
Instead of being tucked away
Was heard, was listened to?

Would you be ashamed?
Would you cover your ears?
Would you rather be deaf
Than let the truth come near?

And what if every image
That passes through your thoughts
Was freed from its prison
To roam until it rots?

Would you be disgusted?
Would you look away?
Would you rather be blind
Than see your thoughts at play?

Love = Lust + Respect