I would take a silver bullet
to stop it from reaching your heart,
Yet you'd just give me
Silver flowers in return;
Carved in tinfoil, each detail
smudged
With your carelessness for your new start.
I would catch the blood red words that haters throw at you
just to keep you from tears,
Yet you'd just give me roses in return,
(They smell sweet, like broken crystals
In a glass of lemonade;
Bittersweet, rather,
Really more of sour)
Each rose not red with hatred,
But silver like those careless flowers
You've formed for me throughout the years.
You'd spend three days
Shaping those roses just for me--
Thinking presentation is the key,
But really, I'd be happy with just your
words
if you chose to give them to me.
But I wish that these roses
Weren't silver, but rather red;
Red like hatred, and red like pain,
Silver droplets in the rain,
While taking in a deadly dose of lead,
Right before I end up dead,
Give me a sign
You've a gone ahead
(With the smell of roses
In my head.)
YOU ARE READING
Walking Into Black
PoetryDon't fear death. It does nothing for you. Death is at every turn; the challenge is if you choose to accept it or not. Don't fear pain. Pain is how you learn. Pain is the side-effect of life. If you live life fearing getting hurt...can you tr...
