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
YOU ARE READING
WICKED HEARTS
Poetry❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞ do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ 𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
