The world,
It’s as if were a vibrant red rose,
It’s beautiful but it has one flaw: thorns
That cut your hands and spill your blood,
As though
you were never meant to touch it.
If you cut them off will it be too much for the rose to bear,
Or will it look fake in the bright sunlight?
Would it look nothing like it did before,
Will the once beautiful
turn into something ugly
only to wilt in it’s pain?
If so would you throw it away to let it be someone else’s problem,
Or rather wait until it withers away?
Giving up on the once lovely object,
That you created to be fake.
You question,
You might have another
but this is the one and only,
The single chance you have.
The lovely rose that smells sweet and new,
That looks clean and happy,
That has those pesky thorns,
You have to live with,
Your one and only Rose.