"Lovers never leave rose garden without a thorn-cut",
I wrote this as an opening line to my novel
And I feel it now, on the bench of botanical bower,
When the white rose withered and began to shed red blood
Wilted are the platonic petals,
I never let love settle,
But it started with the spring,
My white rose turned peony pink
Kissed you at the cafe lot,
I said, "you're so autumn-core"
I think, this is how it's meant to be
Singing to the car radio in rhythm to Phoebe
I laughed, "Baby, you love me?
I know,you love me"
Wilted are the loving petals,
I'll never let love settle,
As it ended with the autumn hue,
My pink rose, it turned blue
Saw you and her at the mini-mall,
You're so winter-core,
I think, this is how it's meant to be,
Crying with open tap, listening to Pheobe
She asked, "Baby you love me? I know you love me"
A piece of my broken heart,
You took it and now I'm scarred
This is how it's meant to be,
And I know that I love me
YOU ARE READING
Harrowing Hiraeth: Suicide note that I never wrote
Poetry.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・ 𝗛𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 : longing for a home which never existed A poetry collection of obscure sorrows, of longing, solitude, nostalgia, healing and trauma. .・゜゜・:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ -> This poetry...
