My body is restless,
And my lungs are weak.
I long for a love,
Way beyond my reach.
I rage and howl,
With words dire and foul.
I bleat and I whimper,
For warmth I felt last winter.
My mind is skeptical,
My heart is torn.
I shed the skins I once wore,
And now I see clearly—
There are no roses without thorns.
This is not the me I'd envisioned within,
But now I understand—
It's impossible for a rose to bloom without thorns.
January 2019
YOU ARE READING
The Aspect Of Oblivion
PoetryThe planted seeds of my wretched thoughts and emotions have bloomed their way out onto these pages, birthing a catastrophic garden; a virtue of beauty. A collection of emotions and thoughts documented in words, encompassing a voyage through the laby...
