You know, the Rose you love? The one that glistens in the sun? The one that makes your imagination run wild and frees your thoughts like no other? The one object you break your back for, in the garden every day? The one that makes you push all the tulips, dandelions, tiger lilies, water buckets full of life, and any other thing out of the path you have made with you own hands to it?
The same Rose, that once you get to it, once you spend your last breath and minute diving for, sweating, hurting, bleeding, giving all you have, then *prick*
You look down and see your life, what keeps you going, a small crimson stream coming right out of the flesh that is yours. You look up to see the thorns, so sharp, so painful, so deep, ever so deep as the petals stares inside you like you are empty. Like you are not a man, not a soul, but a useless shell, made only for amusement, thrown away at the whim of the glancing smirk created by the petals as they blend together right before your eyes.
You catch yourself. You stand up. the Rose instantly turns into fear, knowing it's fun will be over as you are so much more powerful, so much stronger, as the inside of you was made of pure emotional high, no rest.
You tighten your newly gloved hand, the glove made to ignore and be immune to the thorns, you tighten it around the shears. The Rose can't get away obviously. So many thoughts hits you at once. You loved or do you love the Rose so much to give yourself, to win all the Rose offers. With one quick slash, you can get the Rose out of your life, I mean, as you look past this one, there are many more.
The shears are hovering around the stem of the Rose, the dew forming a very slight stream of moisture, looking like a tear almost. You pause, not knowing exactly what you are doing, not knowing what you want. It's so wonderful the Rose is, but you just can't take the thorns you hate. The Rose has a poison, a slow poison, a powerful and potent chemical. One more prick, one more glaze, one more slash of your skin, then you will no longer be the man you are, no more standing under the clouds of the heavens.
You stare, harder then you or anyone has every stared, cutting down walls, slicing people, boulders, buildings in half with a quick glance. Your other hand comes around the other side of the shears, and you still hesitate. You could have your life long dream with this Rose, you could go to the end of the world, you could live your dreams and make something of your life as if God Himself touched you and gave you divine favor and thrust you upon the heights of the greatest beings ever created....
....or there could be a single thorn.... ...one hiding in the petals.... so soft.. glistening... begging you to get closer, to win the world, no the worlds, no, the universe and heavens with just one touch......
Picking the Rose, winning all that can be one and making things right, or being stabbed and ending all that it has taken a lifetime for you to build.
Do you go with your blind conviction with the Rose you have been with, something which will take all of your strength and patience, or do you do the simplest of tasks as putting your hands together and cutting off those petals you thought so grand?
The choices have been placed before me. Is it really my decision after all this?....
- C 2007
The same Rose, that once you get to it, once you spend your last breath and minute diving for, sweating, hurting, bleeding, giving all you have, then *prick*
You look down and see your life, what keeps you going, a small crimson stream coming right out of the flesh that is yours. You look up to see the thorns, so sharp, so painful, so deep, ever so deep as the petals stares inside you like you are empty. Like you are not a man, not a soul, but a useless shell, made only for amusement, thrown away at the whim of the glancing smirk created by the petals as they blend together right before your eyes.
You catch yourself. You stand up. the Rose instantly turns into fear, knowing it's fun will be over as you are so much more powerful, so much stronger, as the inside of you was made of pure emotional high, no rest.
You tighten your newly gloved hand, the glove made to ignore and be immune to the thorns, you tighten it around the shears. The Rose can't get away obviously. So many thoughts hits you at once. You loved or do you love the Rose so much to give yourself, to win all the Rose offers. With one quick slash, you can get the Rose out of your life, I mean, as you look past this one, there are many more.
The shears are hovering around the stem of the Rose, the dew forming a very slight stream of moisture, looking like a tear almost. You pause, not knowing exactly what you are doing, not knowing what you want. It's so wonderful the Rose is, but you just can't take the thorns you hate. The Rose has a poison, a slow poison, a powerful and potent chemical. One more prick, one more glaze, one more slash of your skin, then you will no longer be the man you are, no more standing under the clouds of the heavens.
You stare, harder then you or anyone has every stared, cutting down walls, slicing people, boulders, buildings in half with a quick glance. Your other hand comes around the other side of the shears, and you still hesitate. You could have your life long dream with this Rose, you could go to the end of the world, you could live your dreams and make something of your life as if God Himself touched you and gave you divine favor and thrust you upon the heights of the greatest beings ever created....
....or there could be a single thorn.... ...one hiding in the petals.... so soft.. glistening... begging you to get closer, to win the world, no the worlds, no, the universe and heavens with just one touch......
Picking the Rose, winning all that can be one and making things right, or being stabbed and ending all that it has taken a lifetime for you to build.
Do you go with your blind conviction with the Rose you have been with, something which will take all of your strength and patience, or do you do the simplest of tasks as putting your hands together and cutting off those petals you thought so grand?
The choices have been placed before me. Is it really my decision after all this?....
- C 2007
I wrote this real quick, as I thought of my girlfriend, long story, but I needed to vent, thanks!
