I was a collision of roses and thorns,
with every intention to be beautiful.
And you reached your hand out blindly
not knowing whether you'd be welcomed
by a soft fragrance of breathing life,
or draw your hand back with new scars.
But you spoke like thunder,
and you hit me like lightning.
As I have marked you,
you have left yourself on me.
I can not forget the pain I caused you
when you dared to love me
in the season of my winter veins
that left me cold and vacant.
I am sorry, so sorry
that you got pulled into
a darkness that was me.
If I had the opportunity,
I would wash your tongue of me,
my name would be foreign to your mouth.
And i'd meet you again with pruned branches
so you would know that when you reach your hand out
you are safe with me.