I don't claim to be good at writing poems. It's not my medium...but it's expression. And I need it now.
This poem has no title.

Sap and blood stains your fist,
I can’t figure out how we got like this
From that day where you found me
Lying in my garden of thorns,
Slowly wilting black.
Pale face, pale wrists, bleached stark with hate.
Stained scarlet fingerprints, blame tattooed there
Across blue trails beneath.
I was no more than a vein myself,
Child of dark petals.
The wind stole my pleas unheard
But you heard me, saw me, child of sunlight and warmth
Wandering through the rusted gate by chance.
Tender light, tender hands -your voice
Cut through the storm to sing to me
a song of life, wounds sealed, scars healed.
Girl of sunlit things, girl of faded blue roses;
I only had one petal left
But you helped me to blossom
And then I sang your song too.
But just when my garden would grow,
You took my bloom with the same touch,
Same coaxing fingertips
And crushed my heart.
You took all we made together,
All the things we said,
All that we had done,
All our wishes,
All our futures,
And though my thorns pierced your flesh
It was only I who suffered.
I can’t understand this.
I cannot comprehend.
Lying in the thorns again, weaker than before,
And this time I cannot be saved.
SunnysWifeBlue SunnysWifeBlue
22-25, F
1 Response Aug 15, 2014

Applause :)

Thank you

My pleasure ^_^

It can't have been that good.

It had meaning, I liked it.

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