The Ways in Which We Walk the Earth

Painting the Roses Red

Painting the Roses Red

I am painting the roses red

with the shade of frost bitten cheeks,

blood of the wicked,

and rotting cherries left for the birds, unpicked.

 “Off with their heads,” is the reward

for orders forgotten and denied.

Diligence mixed in the paint of obedience,

fulfillment of your authoritarian approval

remains unmet.

Dragged now with my head against the chopping block,

this is the life of a strenuous labourer

before the blade from years trying to please.

Queen of hearts

You’ll always have mine,

regardless of my imperfection to be a suitable heir.

To my death I’ll paint your roses red

with the colour of loveless, throbbing hearts.

Born by your name and flesh

I carry the burden passed on

like a seed germinating in my brain,

halfway between left and right,

and right from wrong.

I trust you to know what’s best for me.

In the end its better to kill a monster

before it has time to understand its potential,

and utilize their power of destruction.

 All my life,

to the very last day,

I will be painting your roses red.