he left 20 roses at my door.
I scattered their petals
In the same graveyard
That his promises lay.
Flowers.
So useless.
adorning the death earth
Pretending to remember
Life
So that everyone else can live and forget
Until they are in the ground too.
I kept the thorns.
ran them over my finger
Scarlet dripping from my hands.
he thinks he can win me over
With pretty things
that everyone decided are pretty
Because he does not know how to listen.
If he did
he’d know
that beauty is licking
licking the blood of my fingers
When I’m done digging his memory
Far into the ground
Where not even weeds
Will grow from his bones.
Roses are pretty.
Only because they sting.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Ibe Christabel and writers in Poets and other communities.
The great heist
Introduction: The world of heists and daring exploits has fascinated individuals for centuries. From memorable burglaries to audacious thefts, these stories have captured the collective imagination and inspired art, literature, and movies. In the annals of great heists, there exists one that stands out among the others - the undoubtedly exceptional tale of my greatest heist. In this article, we will delve into the intricate details, thrilling moments, and lasting impact of this audacious escapade.
By Ibe Christabel3 years ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.