Sometimes people can be like roses.
We pick the most perfect,
The most beautiful,
And we put them on display.
We put them in a vase
Expecting them to survive despite the most important fact.
They're already dead.
Because just like people,
Our roses are expected to be prefect
But never do we expect them to show signs of their unhappiness.
And just like roses,
When they shrivel and wither,
We throw them away only to get a new group to replace them.
A/N: I'm not too sure where this came from, but here it is. Hope y'all enjoy.
YOU ARE READING
A Broken Heart
PoesiaThis will be a book of rants, poems, short stories, and memories that I want to share. Please comment your feedback and let me know what you think. Also, just a heads up, some of it might get a little dark sometimes. I apologize in advance for that.
