two parallel lines will never meet
except if one of them breaks
in a certain way
at a certain angle
and even then
the encounter will last for a moment
only
like a prick on the thorn
a drop of blood that colours the
white rose
in red
"i am worthy of you"
the whiteness of the petals screams
unaware of the temptations of the
flesh
young love, all about the glorified
tragedy
will end before it even begins
better safe than sorry, she says
and he cries
but she doesn't see
in her mind it's only "me, me,
me"
"only i suffer here"
she's too young to understand
there's two sides to every story
sometimes even more
her heart is already sore
from only one choice
one day she'll know what to do
but that time is far from now
so she makes that choice
with a red flower blooming in her
heart
colouring her tears
and dyeing the rose in her hands
last white rose from the bush in her
yard
before the winter
No comments:
Post a Comment