A rose who rose above the rest
Not proud, nor made to detest
High in the sky, she goes up
To the sun like a tulip or buttercup
And I, so distant, built to be resilient
Shrouded by those with murderous intent
I among the weeds, bound by my deeds
But a thought of her had me feel as freed
And then did wend to me a friend
The kind whom to my wounds did tend
Saying, those with thorns tend to mourn
She stands above it all, not fearing the norms

Writhing like a worm
Spent too much time
Basking in the sun
Baking my bones
In a bed of leaves
Laying with the stones
Buried like a seed
In pieces like the sky
Split by the clouds and breeze
In a dried lake of red
Where I rest my head