I pick up this flower
I hold no fear of its bites
Because it'll just stain it's white petals
I wonder
If you love me
Because I think of you
Each time I see
Myself hate me
And that's quite a lot of times
I know we call ourselves lovers
But are we lovers
Because you barely talk to me
On one season
And then the next ones you become
So popular
That people don't let me go through
The prickly rose bushes they are
I pick up a petal from the flower's head
Soon she grew bald
Underneath all that beauty
She was a withered slut
That loved to hurt me
That blocked me
From my love
And her last words were...
He loves you not.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Starting To Think...
Poetry...that everything can come together. It can tell us what we are. It can tell us what the meaning of everything is... If you just smile, You'll see the whole world. Now just smile. {Warning: Old. Bad. Old+Bad= Very bad.}
