Love is a rose, rising from worthless dirt,
The flower blossoms with a vigorous desperation to bud into an alluring lust.
So fragrant is the aroma so ardent the crimson flame of passion.
Like a witch in a scorching forest at the end of its days, it seduces the children into the searing oven.
Adrenaline bursts through like red clots blocking veins. Our slavery makes us a blissful slave. Our desires make us daze and bathe in glee.
Spreads like a disease, from mountain full of ego built upon a heap of trash, manifesting in the falsehood of a broken heart's past.
But heed not, for see no danger in our horse blinding mask. Don't notice the knife behind the back the heat in the oven steadily sweltering ever more. People never seem to realize that every rose, has it's thorn.
The flower begins to wither, in the cold hand of endless time. So frail is it's beauty, so quick is it done.
And when the flower is truly gone, only then with the rain be hither, just to add trauma to the salted wound. Yet next time spring appears, another bloody rose arises from the corpses of the dead worthless flesh.
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Personal Poem List
PoetryThis will be where I write my poems from here on out. I do not have a specific agenda for releasing them, nor do I intend to publish them. This is just a document where I can place my thoughts down in the art of poetry. All of this is original work...
