He loves me and he loves me not,
Behind her pink petals slowly rot.
Green mold and brown stain,
Bury her while she sits in pain.
He loves me and he loves me not,
Her chances with him still are shot,
If she buries herself within this tomb,
And forgets how the real roses bloom.
He love me and he loves me not,
Sitting still so long that she's forgot,
Why those words did even matter,
Because without them her world would shatter.
YOU ARE READING
Scattered Ponderings
PoetryA single note, it reads *Remember to write something profound here* (cover credit is to @adnali - if anyone's reading this, check out her stuff, it's so good) (spn & fandom is marked in title)
