In my mind, I'm caring for roses.
Reds and pinks exploding
Into dynamic poses.
Sweet aromas dance through my nostrils.
While the vines say "thank you",
By extending their tendrils.
But my hands tell a different story.
The bush lashes out,
Leaving fingers pricked and ******
Not a single rose in sight.
They've all receded,
Asleep in their longest night.
Sometimes a rose or two will bud.
Blessing me with affection,
Making me think I am loved.
But then it pulls back from the embrace
It digs it's thorns into my flesh,
Reminding me of my place.
It rips away my skin, flesh is exposed,
A burning, raw, painful sensation,
A wound never to be closed.
I know I'm no reason to make room.
But I'll keep tending to this bush,
In hopes that a real friendship will bloom.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC
In my mind, I'm caring for roses.
Reds and pinks exploding
Into dynamic poses.
Sweet aromas dance through my nostrils.
While the vines say "thank you",
By extending their tendrils.
But my hands tell a different story.
The bush lashes out,
Leaving fingers pricked and ******
Not a single rose in sight.
They've all receded,
Asleep in their longest night.
Sometimes a rose or two will bud.
Blessing me with affection,
Making me think I am loved.
But then it pulls back from the embrace
It digs it's thorns into my flesh,
Reminding me of my place.
It rips away my skin, flesh is exposed,
A burning, raw, painful sensation,
A wound never to be closed.
I know I'm no reason to make room.
But I'll keep tending to this bush,
In hopes that a real friendship will bloom.
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