The roses.
Petals falling, seasons change.
The red blossoms turn a horrible grey.
The roses.
Vibrant, bright, full of love.
Yet also a symbol of hate and dissatisfaction.
They can mean two things;
One of glory. One of seething hate.
Roses, why did you do this to me?
Why did I end up with the second choice?
Of deep despair, of horrible fate.
And then, silence.
YOU ARE READING
𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 & 𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐲𝐬
PoetryPoetry is a beautiful thing. It can bring out the light in the darkest times. And that is why I started writing this; to cope. It's short, but I hope you guys like it. ❤️
