I run my hands along the rose bushes, caressing the scarlet and their thorns,
Nothing as beautiful as those who mean seemly harm;
Prickly and fatal covered in enchantments. Eager to deceive the innocent
Yet so vulnerable without them—beauty seems to behold each their own.
The wind picks up outside, bringing with it wonder and guilt and unease,
Such a brutal attack on the senses; It seems my mind still indulges itself with tricks
And is still weak to the whisper of false promises laced with sweet kisses.
A new day brings a new sun, glowing heavy with newfound purpose.
My roses gleam in the sunlight, their poison renewed and thorns thick,
But heavy is my mind after the storm. Eager to lose what I had in the clash, I drift,
Landing upon a gardener much more submissive to my tastes,
My mind calming itself with grand delusions of a new tomorrow, and
Those roses seem to brighten under the attention of another care.
But the wind still roars outside, thrashing and swaying my resolve.
The glass weighs heavy on my heart, filled with the honey of another’s kiss
But it is the taste of you on my tongue I can never seem to be rid of.
The liquor clouds my head, but blocks out the retched wind and his cues
And the whiskey sits still in its bucket, ready to fall and shatter under the masses,
But the hangover comes ultimately; my head could never keep up fast enough,
And my body aches for more than a mere replacement.
My roses wilt without proper nourishment, so,
I’m not surprised to find myself in the calm of the storm, knowing you’ll find me
Here in the storm of roses and their thorns, I sink to my knees with arms wide open,
Fervent to submit the power of an enchantment trapped for all these years.
Though you are fatal and lovely, just as my rose’s thorns, you consume all of me,
Heavy the hail that rains on my heart; I know you will guide us through the winds.
Come, collect those false promises and I’ll answer them back with tempting kisses,
For in this storm you are the only way to survive.
I wear it like a badge, a necklace to hang between my breasts, heavy and auspicious,
Waiting for you to claim my poison, my thorns, me.
Surely, the sun will break through your winds and clouds,
But by then, I will willingly be trapped in the eye of the storm,
Where you care for my enchanted magic, laced in the thorns of my rose.