a rose colored tragedy
beautiful to the end
not really

so desperately they bloomed
In the heat of summer, the musk of roses permeate the air

the rich tone of multifold petals
each layer darker than the rest
the brilliant shade fades at the edges
as if the poor flowers had run out of things to bleed
they bloom gloriously
forgetting the price of that lush magnificence

there is something tragic in the making

like all sweet things they don’t wither

they rot