you were a rose
and i grew to love your thorns
but now my hands are covered in blood
and the cuts on my fingers sting
and i realize that not everyone with thorns
is worth loving
YOU ARE READING
quarter to dawn {poetry}
Poetrya collection of poems. you ask me why i like art and i tell you that the water colours bleed prettier than my wrists
23
you were a rose
and i grew to love your thorns
but now my hands are covered in blood
and the cuts on my fingers sting
and i realize that not everyone with thorns
is worth loving
