Blank as day
Black as night
Her world is void of color.
He hands her a rose;
It's pure as snow,
And as she looks--
It bleeds.
The red of love
The red of hate
The red she finally sees.
And now the color floods her;
And now she finally sees--
The color was there all along
But emerged because of he.
That one pure rose
Has set her free
He says to her, "Lean close--
I have more to show to thee."
As she nears she inhales the scent
Of a beautiful summer dream;
With the beauty he has given her
Her life has been redeemed.
You Made Me Do This
(((Response to this poem)))
“Sorry, friend” is what you say?
You deny the truth—we were never friends.
You say you’re done pretending
But you're lying to yourself.
Sick of me? Sick of lies?
Look in the mirror and stop wasting my time.
Sick of fake bonds that held us close?
To you they were bonds, me--they choked.
You're done pretending?
Well, good, so am I.
I'm sick of acting like you're graeat
Sick of giving you a break.
I'm sick of you talking shit about me.
Don't do it again. A warning--take heed.
I'm sick of wasting my time on you
So, guess what, "friend"?
I'M GLAD WE'RE THROUGH.
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