| t w o - h a l f |

119 4 4
                                    

You are the lies on her melanin skins, the pernicious rose-daggers deaf to the honey-dripped words you throw. For you don't know the veins that bleed blood, the rusted knives that slip, weeping the tears she cannot.

You think roses can be only beautiful.

THEY ARE FOOLS, FOR THEY ONLY SPEAK WHAT THEY SEE.

Do you see now, my darling?
You never know who is hurting.

| • • • |

- for those hiding your wounded souls

WICKED HEARTSWhere stories live. Discover now