he still doesn't realize
that beauty has a price

he plucks roses and
wonders why they wither
when he's never learnt
to check their roots.

with thorns between his lips,
he speaks softly about
the way love has eluded
him over the years.

his palms like written verse,
scarred and coarse, petals
falling delicately out of
time from his fingertips.

he sees beauty but he
does not see underneath

he has always been
one to see the flames
but never feel the heat.

I would dry your eyes if it
meant drowning in your tears

I would calm your demons if it
meant falling with your fears

I would fight your struggles if it
meant suffering your strife

I would trade your death if it
meant giving you my life

©

you are beauty
in a nut shell
finally breaking free
of what it means
to be beautiful

he's the saddest story i ever read,
a walking tragedy written with spilled blood of innocence
on pages of stolen youth.

he holds forgotten chapters of words
that he never got to speak, a novel that holds his painful secrets like a requiem.
he knows death intimately as his first love
and has bruised knuckles and empty hands to show for hardships.

but still, he smiles.
even when the aroma of
perfume lingers and
the ring she never got to wear still shines.