Hold a Rose with pedals of light.
One by one they turn on,
spiraling towards the center
that erupts in flames.
Your eyes are skewered on it's thorns.
It's stem, your neck and spine.
It's roots your entangled bowels.
Your heart hangs above
and drips down the red
that colors the Rose inside my head.
Two leave stretch out
like crippled arms
and wrap around my twisted body.
A grave is in the ground,
so I pull the Rose up from the dirt.
I watch it wilt and die
and I'm confused
and wonder why.
Inside a seed, you left me here.
My sun that shone is my nightmare.
I drowned in you to comfort myself.
You turned out to be nothing
but a little bitch.
A cunt with a stench
to wittle a rose
that I stopped to smell.
But your stink is a trick.
And poetry's just a dick
so often limp.
It extends just to whine
beacuse my hearts broken again.
So suck on my depth, and i'll be sensitive. |
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