lacy roses reign over my veins
and galaxies govern these bruises.
i am delicate.
yes, i had thorns,
but they fell from your reckless care,
one by one,
and now i am all broken roses
with bruises that never end
like the galaxies beyond our knowledge,
beyond your knowledge.

they don't care.
they'll only care when the lace is ripped.
and the children made of stars
engulf me until i am no more;
only then do they realize
that i am delicate.