spectrum // poetry

rose

Put on those rose-coloured glasses. See things the way you want to. Live in delusion because reality hits too hard, like glass smashed on concrete.

Falling.

Isn't it beautiful, floating mid-air?

The calm before the storm. The eye of the hurricane. The breath before the plunge.

Falling.

Falling from grace. Falling in love. Falling out of it.

Falling.

How long will it be until it hits?

Until you are shards on pavement, fragments of your past shattered around you. Maybe it was worth it. Sharpen the shards onto spears. Melt yourself into tears and shape the water into iron, cast yourself onto the ocean and sink.

Fallen.

When?

It happens.

Sympathy pours in like glue, trickling through the dam you built in damnation. They seek out the cracks, try to put you together. Heal your scars and bring the sunlight back into your eyes. They can't. You can't turn a rose into a daisy.

It happens.

How many times can they tell you the same story?