Posted in poetry

Every Rose Has its Thorns

Some moments are made of eternities

They impart a sensation like nails on a chalkboard

Your existence is bombarded like an emotional tactical strike

And only then do you know what it is to live

 

The thud of the rose was no less than a grenade

As it hit the concrete bathed in hope-drenched sunlight

The wind wailed desolately in my ears

The frame was perfect, the picture distorted

 

There stood my love giving love to another

Planting sweet kisses onto lips that weren’t mine

Staring longingly into eyes that weren’t mine

Soft whispers of ‘I love you’ into ears that weren’t mine

 

I surrendered to my tears as they burned my cheeks

Rooted in the ground by my paralyzed feet

Sickly fascinated at my ruination

My tired eyes couldn’t seem to look away

 

Desperation crashed down on me like a waterfall

My soul could take no more

Stupidity soon followed

How could I allow myself to dream

 

Secretly i craved this form of torture

It became my favorite form of self-harm

Every sense of mine sought out their love

To burn into my memory with a cattle-prod

 

With every crumpled rose i grew desolate

With every lost love i killed hope

Maybe this was destiny

Maybe there is no other half of this heart of mine

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