“Err.. A rose .. thorns of suffering, suffering in mannerisms. Suffering to find love, or just a love of suffering. Er in our beginning, arose from a deep sleep, the pain of our awakenings. Her Beauty stems from a long root of affliction. And in my journey, I found a beauty adorning the crown of my own humility.
Came in on his donkey, mute messages conveyed through hunger pains of love’s famine. She loved to love me, but couldn’t possibly love herself. Life is a hopeless romance, and we the pity, foolish enough to chase a difference.
The rough endings, and the edges of realism. Prickly stakes wherein which our hope hangs, nailed down like penned emotion. Another page martyred to my pen’s aggressive strokes. She left me vinegar to clot these wounds. My blood rose pedal … a rose.”
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