i n f a t u a t e d

anger

I don't let my thorned roses grow freely

I ignore their painful scratches
and desperate attempts to be released
through a somewhat sane appearance

instead I push them deeper inside and
encage them
stripping them of life
watching them brood and
manifest and
spread through every fibre of my being
until,
they burst
in crimson violence and anger and
their pale, sickly sweet poison oozes
out of my every pore and
I myself become one of those thorns.

© stitch_has_a_glitch 2018