bruise

23 1 0
                                    

bruise

oh what a bittersweet thing,
like nectar left over on a honeybee sting,
like a starry night sky, burning bright like fireflies,
firing lies, beautiful but bloody inside,
as though smelling a crimson rose,
and shooting pollen up your allergy-prone nose,
making daisy chains from hand grenades,
scorching days through crystal rains,
prettiness hiding pain.

weeds: a collection of poetryWhere stories live. Discover now