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.