roses as killers

by hiraeth   May 29, 2020

what draws you near? is it the fragrance that
happened to waft by you, or the deeply carmine
colour that beckons you to come crashing on this
shrub as a siren song? you’re aware of the prickles,
yet fail miserably in your gentle quest to pluck a
blossomed flower. your fingers bleed, fertilizing
the soil once more. you discard the rose, and take
your absence, pressing your fingers into your palms,
seeking first-aid.

with one less flower, i wonder
what’s the point?


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