The Crimson Rose
Jun 6, 2023
When she plucked the crimson from its tender stem,
The sepals had revolted.
They shed their green and bid farewell to the rose.
The rose, in the spiral of its petals, could not betray itself.
It kept drinking the water that she served,
Not for its life, she never cared,
It was only so she could retain its crimson beauty,
Chaining its purpose to the whims of a jilted lover.
She bred it in a glass bowl,
So it could shine for the glory of her half-affections,
Peeking through her unkempt locks
Where she tangled her full throttled emotions, slow breaths, and her entire heart.
