Cold red roses like
when the tips turn black and
the edges start to wither. His
fury — words of ice. These
shattered illusions of subtle
situations gone astray. He is
the read betweens. He is the
metaphor that lingers. It cuts
deep and this time there is no
going back.
© A. Leigh
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 2:31 AM UTC
Cold red roses like
when the tips turn black and
the edges start to wither. His
fury — words of ice. These
shattered illusions of subtle
situations gone astray. He is
the read betweens. He is the
metaphor that lingers. It cuts
deep and this time there is no
going back.
© A. Leigh
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