My fingers no longer sting like that .
You probably don't recall that night
I told you people were like roses
Two-faced, venom, pleasant, and her.
I forgot how to enumerate for a second,
we were no longer three; look about.
The stupid petal game suited me so well.
I wanted to draw your beauty, contiguous.
Got to rewrite the story you fouled with blood.
I wonder what you did to him, he wasn't immune.
Should've judged the book by its cover, foolish.
If it makes you feel any better, I don't hate you.
You were a rose, they forgot to pluck your thorns.
I notice the color of your hair, burns a little less.
You were wrong, I was nothing like them.
Thank you for making me a transient botanist.
Turns out, the moon does smile at art, silly me.

© yudia