You Only Brought Me Black Roses

There are black roses blooming beneath your skin
they are leaving you with pinpricks along all of your bones
your skeleton is covered in scratches,
I can feel their inverse snaking across your wrists;
raising ridges in your valleys

don’t they seem out of place there?


Stop breaking yourself.


One day you will wish you were whole again

but you will only feel empty.
You will try to glue yourself back together with the words of insincere lips that promise “I love you”

You will attempt to stitch your fraying sides with their kisses,
that you wish would brush against your soul.
But they never will,
because their owner’s hands are far more interested in your body.

One day you will wonder,
why you ever thought the scars would make you a more interesting lover.

You will wonder how you ever convinced yourself that sorrow was a story worth writing on your own skin
or why you believed that she deserved a sequel tattooed onto your heart.

You will discover,
that your happiness holds far better histories than your despair.


Please stop breaking yourself.


You were worthy of attention long before you were in pieces.
I brought you a bouquet of wildflowers gone to seed
and a frienship soaked in pesticide.

I think it is well past time to replant the garden you have growing under your skin.


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