"Roses are white
And the violets are covered in dew
Everyone has their own definition of perfect
And mine was you
But then I woke up
And the roses were pink
And the violets were gone
And when I tried to look for you, everyone said you had died close to dawn
So I'm crying
And staining my wrist red
Because I've learned the only real way to be perfect
Is to be dead."
-r.b
YOU ARE READING
Midnight wonders
Poetry•Exulansis: the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it •Sciamachy: a battle against imaginary enemies, against your own shadow. •Eccedentesiast: a person who fakes a smile For some people...
