Rain

weeds and thorns

                          I know of this girl with an attitude like ice, hair the color of fire, and nothing but wisdom hidden in her words.As caring as this girl maybe, and as aged as her eyes may seem to glow , she tends to have her emotions wrapping around her , as if weeds, as if the remaining's of a dead bundle of roses, her beauty is trapped in the existing of her thorns, with these thorns,she uses them to stab the ones she cares for away, she tends to get stuck in the abyss of weeds , in which are slowly becoming her being, she is trapped in the hideous siting of her own emotions, she wants an escape , so she turns to her thorns, she collapses onto them, letting those feelings of relief overcome her, she cares too much, sometimes  she forgets to  care about herself, she forgets to give the watering to her roses, that have come to die out, she forgot herself  in that row of weeds and thorns, she forgot who she dreamt of becoming,although, my faith has shown me, that this girl, one of the strongest of people I've grown to know,the girl not wanting a helping hand, although, my friend, I , myself, will eventually  tare away that bundle of weeds, only to have you analyze your reflection farther, because your importance might not be visible to you, but to me, it's astonishing.