words of isolation

rose without torns

i have a wide garden within my chamber. nobody, the people who live in same house as me, not even they, are aware of it. contrary to what everyone was used to; it has only one plant – rose.

cute chick girl, they say, with luscious pink lips and round yet rosy cheeks. utterly beautiful they said i am. they assured me that i could win the favor of whomever i wished; all it would take is one tender smile.

sweet, alluring, ethereal, slim, and full of elegance, they described me. i beg to dissent, beyond a shadow of doubt. i am far more than what they perceive me to be; i am much more – way too much.

my skin is white as the snow, that pours light charming flakes – making you want to grasp it or merely caress it. but beware; you might get blind from excess visible light. my hair is straight as iron that begs to be played by your delicate fingers. it was black as the darkness that enveloped everyone's thoughts. yet be careful; i may be much darker and twist you fingers all the way up to your neck, damning you forever.

they claimed that i am breathtakingly beautiful and that they would do anything to have me in their lives, or perhaps in their bed – neither do i care. they prayed for me and yearned to behold my majesty. but again, be on guard; or this breath-taking appearance might make you get breathless.

i'm the epitome of rose without thorns. amiable? i'm not certain. nemesis? i may be. don't be oblivion; i gave enough warnings, perhaps these roses in my garden might lead you from dying.