Roses of February

Red Roses.
Their silk pedals press against my cheek as I lay in a field of them
The smell intoxicates my mood
Their bloodshot red pedals turn sorrowful blue
As each pedal I pluck crumbles to ash
I become the girl whose heart has suffered a gash
Open wounded, staining the blue roses with the stench of red
I lay before the grey sunset in a bluesy bed
Blue pedals sizzle to black dust
As I hold onto the blue rose, my heart hushed
A willow weeps into the palm of my hand
Drenched, I silently lay
Holding onto the blue rose, I smell its drooping pedals
Then with a sniffle I kiss the rose as I lay it beside me
My want preserve its beauty
The conscience to pluck it bare
All I can hear is my painful heart
Crying for the answer that will bring us out the dark
Soaked ash rustles against my ears
As my brown eyes silently cry to tears
Blue Roses.
Ash.





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