He’s pretty, he gleams like the fresh morning dew;
Often I picture myself waking up next to you.
But vines they invade those beautiful dreams;
Piercing my thoughts with thorns oh so sharp.
Because under that rose tinted facade,
Rests the roots of this bush, warped, gnarled, and odd.
So I guess what I mean to say;
But not in a mean way;
This rosebush needs pruning, my babe.
Nov 13, 2024
Nov 13, 2024 at 3:11 PM UTC
He’s pretty, he gleams like the fresh morning dew;
Often I picture myself waking up next to you.
But vines they invade those beautiful dreams;
Piercing my thoughts with thorns oh so sharp.
Because under that rose tinted facade,
Rests the roots of this bush, warped, gnarled, and odd.
So I guess what I mean to say;
But not in a mean way;
This rosebush needs pruning, my babe.
My boyfriend has been especially cold to me lately, but I couldn't bear to share my thoughts with him. I hope you all can glean some meaning from this poem.
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