philophobia

roses are blonde

roses are blonde- i guess they're red too.

violets aren't purple - they're supposed to be blue. 

when i'm with you, there's a thrill in the air 

a calm that excites me, 

removes the scare. 

why does this rhyme, 

why do i care, 

why does it leave me wanting - 

you. 

the pieces that i haven't put together, 

the endless puzzle that keeps me, 

frustrates me- 

god, you make me want to scream. 

it's not the kind you'd think, 

the anger and the hatred bubbling to the surface, 

but the outrage that i might've missed something worthwhile, 

something that might have me falling further. 

when i'm with you, there's mystery all around me 

the curiosity taking its toll, 

questions that confound me get a bit old. 

i never make sense, 

or maybe i do, 

i never make sense, 

but neither do you. 

arms wrapped around me

wishing i could be held forever 

lie there an eternity 

safe from everyone else - 

safe from myself. 

you're this beacon of light 

wiping out the dark 

even when you fail - 

it's not your fault. 

we both learn - love. 

we try harder, 

make it up. 

we're not cliche

we make mistakes 

you do - i do 

okay. 

roses are blonde- we never knew. 

violets aren't purple- but who had a clue.