where do flowers bloom?
i’ve seen them grow between your thighs,
by your hips; red roses.
on the crack by your collarbone; white roses.
on your lids; yellow roses
in between your knuckles; my roses.

where do angels sing?
i’ve heard them knock on your door
and chant for months straight,
the same song repeats with each of your heartbeats, gulps and blinks.
where you lay at night, where you spend your day,
where you bathe,
where you hide.
wherever you breathe, they chant.
“how glorious!”

where do trees grow?
on the palm of your hand,
oaks and palm trees stand.
olive trees swoon for you,
and cedars kneel.

where does my heart beat?
exactly where the flowers bloom,
where the angels sing,
and where the trees grow.
As I write this verse,
Wish we would just converse.
Because for every minute that passes
if feels like a year, just in reverse

When I look into those eyes,
I feel that smile is nothing but a disguise
and in the end, all it does is agonize
not just me but both our lives.

Roses are seen as perfection, yet all I see is you
Even when I close my eyes, I wish it were not an Adieu
It's like my heart itself is planning a coup
When in reality I really can't have you

As a rose, you may wilt
but my love for you will resist
because forever it will exist
until someday I'm dismissed
o o o o o o

Feeling lonely unwanted and used,
My pride and my ego is bruised,
Someone to hold me while I'm lost and confused,
Someone to care for through a life of disputes,
Maybe it's me the cousin of Jack Frost,
To cold to the heart for a person to love,
Fugazi laugh and a smile I know I hide well,
All this anguish and pain behind my glass to the world,
I feel so empty and hollow not forgetting unloved,
I'm that single black rose too thorny to touch,
Complex by design and sheilded with spikes,
So wild pretty and enticing,
Yet too dangerous to love or like,
Cob webs of silk dresses lie draping my leaves,
Along with razor ice shards,
I dare you to pick me!
The shower rushes over
  He thinks he's dying                        
  He can't tell if he's crying    
But he looks at his flowers                    
Etched on his arm.          
He holds
That Rose
That Anchor and he knows                
“I must keep trying"
My view of the world
           through rose tinted glasses.

I hope that we can pick up roses
      hand them to each other
rather than point weapons upon
                       brothers & sisters.
But a rose is a sour beauty
for even thorns can bleed
              deeper than a dull sword.

We must speak to each other find
             solace in others humanity.
For words can heal rifts that started
                 long before we were born.
But syllables latching on to the misgivings
                      of insecurities can wound.
Like papercuts on the mind,
        speaking to the shallow cradles swinging
        in a hateful wind of whispers flawed.

I wear glasses that I take of every now
          and then, I have a idealistically flawed
view seeing the potential of us.
But knowing we can fall harder
                                      than when can get up.
I wanted to bury my feelings for you, deep within the ground so it was out of sight.

Never knew it was a seed, sprouting and blooming. It was beautiful you see  just one of a kind.

But I get it, you won't choose it.

Who would pick a daisy in a garden of roses.

And then you picked the one with the most thorns, now it's painted red just hiding in the colors.

But it's actually grey because you left.
Why would you even pick the flower that bloomed for you
His feelings were like corspes dead,
Walking on tears with slim neck Ravens;
Wilted roses made his bed,
Although he never rested on them.
He paints the sky grey,
And always on his mark;
He whistled to dying souls a song but they ran,
But corners they convey themselves, they were in the corner of his plan.
Category: life
Simra Sadaf Jun 7
she is an undeniable calm amidst chaos,
a lone rose of the wild,
a strange serenity in a calamity,
her words are like sugar,
sweetness you crave for,
she is like the air,
you can not hold it in your hand,
but it is everywhere,
she is a walking beauty,
the sun's rays gleams on her cheekbones,
her perfume smells like innocence,
of beauty she is the quintessence,
as long as you have her,
your heart could never be empty,
with gorgeousness through and through,
she is flawed in all the right places,
freckles like constellations across her face,
forming Cassiopeia, queen of vanity,
how perfectly fitting.
Lemonade May 2017
Maybe there was a time,
when roses had no thorns.
Just like we did before.
Now, we guard ourselves,
just like the roses do.
Lonerblues Jun 6
I was a blue rose in a garden of red
However you plucked and threw me
Like I was the rest.
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