I dared to touch the sharpest thorn

Of a rose in full bloom. Afraid, she cut me.

I bled for her a drop of

Love and bitterness


I press my hand against

Poetry and music; I create memories

For myself — I need portraits of

The things we will never live. I want to

Walk on broken glass.

I need words and notes of springtime

To ease my mind, to unleash my



I thank you for the pain

That reminds me of how life

Runs in my bloodstream


Always alive. Always so

Melancholic… I am naïve. I am

Such a fool…

I knew the pain was coming, yet I

Dared to touch the sharpest thorn, the sharpest



In the end of

Everything, you’re still

The lily I’ll never have, my

Crying rose




2 thoughts on “Garden

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