Heart Wrapped With Thorns

Grey was in love.

More than the thrill of feeling

Her heart race with hot blood,

As if a cupid punctured her

With a thorn of an ugly rose.

And its pedals,

colorless.

The blood spilling out,

still red and warm.

 

Again and again,

And again and again,

And again,

Shot:

Her heart was now pleasured

With countless holes.

 

“Suffering builds character.”

A stranger,

A girl she found crying

Over the loss of her friend who shot herself,

Scratching her cheeks until

It bled, said so.

The absence of one

Own’s life,

Digging into their own

Bare body to find it back,

It was true,

Love.

 

Feeding her mind

With the end of passion,

She couldn’t imagine

How the following

Star would live onwards,

The pedals fallen,

Never to be grown

Red.

 

Then, when the moon came by,

Grey could see all

The beauty of the world:

The people, the moon, the darkness.

That beauty, tainted

By a bright,

colorless rose.

 

Realization, evaluation, interpretation,

The new following

Star was shot with her last

Thorn. Dropping everything,

She would seek that ugly,

Colorless rose.

Until its pedals grows

Red, and the blood,

Colorless.