How pretty
They are, lying on the bed
Crawling on the walls
Walking on the floors
A rustle they make
from being bunched up together
The petals twisted into curved lines
the vine line up neatly
And the thorn sharp as ever
But where did they come from?
From you of course!
Why, did you just think that they
appear like that?
They are from your tears
that never fall
They are from your fears
that are always in the back of your mind
They are from your dresses
That cover up the evidence
They are from your secret part
that you hid from the world
The rose carries it's all
The pain and tears
The love and tender
The madness and lust
and the happiness and trust
They fall from your tears
crawl from your fears
skip from your innocence
leaving you vulnerable
The roses
are like family and friends
they accept you
and you accept them
(now if only your real family could be that way)
But truth be told
you are the rose
the rose is not you
but the other way around
You hide within the petals
and shake inside the vine
as your edges is the thorn
The rose, holds and carries
much stuff
within it's self
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Submission Name: Rose's
