*tw: blood and slight violence*
I was a delicate rose in a bright green field. Beautiful, dainty, innocent. Of course I caught your menacing eye.
Ruining things was your specialty, so you reached down and yanked me from my roots, your hands covered in blood—for my thorns had dug into your skin.
I was a delicate rose in a bright green field. To you, I reeked of innocence. Ruining things was your specialty, but you'd never ruin me.
YOU ARE READING
recycled poetry
Poetry❝i wish i was writing something special, but these words have been used before and there's no originality to it at all. i'm just reusing phrases until they're worn out, like musty library books or hand-me-down clothes.❞ from ❛hand-me-down poetry❜ i...
