 | I'm intoxicated by that sweet something,
How the air, it seems to stink of it.
My lungs grow heavy as they breathe it in,
And my mind spins out, high on the scent.
She stands before me holding a lonely rose,
She grips it strong by the green stem.
The thorns sinking deep into her soft skin,
And a tear twinkles in the corner of her eye.
Then she starts to pick apart the flower,
Petal by petal, she pulls it apart.
I know without words what she’s saying to me,
This rose is her heart, her love, her dream.
Each petal a shard of her broken heart,
A sweet memory or another white lie.
She looks pale and cold as if feeling sick,
And her dreams are fading behind those eyes.
She slowly whispers the whimpers of pain,
A sob and she tries to hold back the tears.
It’s clear that she’s drowning inside herself,
And I’m standing here a lone man, helpless.
And with her hateful words that cut in deep,
She says to me with a smile, "you love me, not."
She pulls the stitches from the fresh wounds,
And I’m left dying on the cold, hard floor.
She runs out crying into the open cold night,
The shadows blanket her from my sight.
The blood spills out and all over the floor,
I walk over it not stopping to pick it all up.
I go home trudging with tears trickling down,
I wipe my cheeks clean of melancholy sorrows.
The depression sinks deep inside my dead soul,
And I pull out a pen and a piece of blank paper.
I write you a letter of nothing more then my words,
I try to apologize but it doesn’t feel right.
I remind you that you have no one else left now,
I’ll be waiting for when you can learn to forgive me.
I take the letter and seal it inside an envelope,
I neatly print your full name on the front of it,
Throw it into the fireplace and watch it slowly burn,
I walk to the door, turn out the lights, and leave. |  |
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