wordbyrdwriting

Roses Are Red

one petal, two petals

can you hear the noise beneath the floorboards

and the white noise in the ceiling?

three petals, fuck, now four

i must be overthinking. 

 

thorns trickle to the floor

they kiss through petals they once ignored

he loves me 

he loves me not!

whoosh, whoosh

i can feel it, i know you can, too.

 

when will it end?

your appearances feel like an omen

to abide by what has been stolen

you profit off of my soul

 

still, after all of these years

leave me as i am

a bride in tight clothing

running, searching, worried

i can’t breathe

i can’t fucking breathe.

 

like our time together

there are no more petals

but the roses are still red

and i am blue-hued.