February 4, 2010
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Your red pen rests unseen
In its bastille,
But still
Draws my eye,
Sanguinary as the words that I imply.

Roses are red with painful thorns;
When picked,
Do prick,
Although more than one answer could be true;
It just depends on the view.

If you found the answer(s),
I'd acquiesce.
It would be written in red ink,
Like blood seeping from all that I used to think.

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roxawesomeness said...
Feb. 26, 2010 at 11:22 am
omg! i know who that is ;)
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