BLEEDING ROSE
Such a gentle beau he was
Nursed my flower and stopped it from being plucked
Said if plucked, I'd wither and die.
Probably cursed by a witch, I woke up to a beast
Learnt to fake perfect smile
And apply make-up with guile.
Withered rose in a beautiful show glass.
A punching bag with soul,
Dead but growing.
Weak are the thorns of my rose,
Blunt and broken sepals.
Falling petals go unnoticed,
For camouflage ones are formed by my blood.
Waking up next to him turned from good to disastrous,
Volcanic sound of his voice in my slumber
Tensed and insecure,
For his "good morning habits" turned horrendous.
Home now a place of terror,
Like the autumn, falling down and apart.
For my flower beds have been trampled by an Ogre.
YOU ARE READING
World of emotions
PoetryPoetry work that touches almost every emotional distress and emotional enthusiasm we go through in our lives. #Love #Genotype #Life #Happy #Broken #Joy #Smile
