From the poisonous flower
Who dare take a breath
For one more smell of it is
One more death.
It looks beautiful,
Looks really nice
But you wouldn’t touch it,
If you are wise.
Red as blood
That is the color,
Of the deadly one,
The pretty flower.
Funny, huh?
How beauty can be
Nothing, and that we shouldn't
Trust what we see.
YOU ARE READING
SELF-POEMS
PoetryArtists make self portraits. Poets can make self poems. This is a poem that I wrote that describes how I feel most of the times. It isn't exactly perfect, but I'm not perfect either. No one is. But we all try to do the best we can. That's why we are...
