When my body is numb,
And my eyes cease to bring,
Their never-ending light,
When they fall closed,
And all I see is darkness
When my smile disappears,
And my lips form a single line,
When you put your finger to my throat,
And you feel not a pulse any longer,
Lay me on a bed of thorns.
A bed of thorns,
That will dig into my skin,
The skin that I've hidden behind,
For far too long,
That will portrude into my flesh,
And turn it into nothing
But withering dust.
A bed of thorns,
So I could say my skin has been scratched,
So I could say I have suffered,
So every living part of me,
Collapses,
And sends me into my designated death.
A bed of thorns,
So you may watch what was left of me,
Get torn apart into splintered pieces,
Let it tear past my weakness,
And don't try to rescue me.
Once you see my rose has died,
All I ask,
Is for you to leave my thorns behind.
~n.s
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Poetic Justice
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