The Ink Stained Rose

I was told that when this rose lost all of it’s petals, my life would end. I took the rose in my small infant hands. It was a black rose that matched my hair. The petals were silky when I rubbed my nose into them. To me most roses smell like raspberries, but this one smelled like nothing. I took another big sniff. When I pulled my head back a single dark petal fell to the floor.
Now I rest my head on a table. A few inches from my nose is my rose. There is one more petal left.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback