Fulcrum of a rose

My Heart ~ the pump station of my love, my affection. Like petals of a rose— the fulcrum of my fragrance... attracting kindred souls to my life, like bees and butterflies to a bloom. Rip my heart open— you won’t find anything else but goodness and kindness ~ the fabric that clothes my being. When broken— the pain is sharp and immense, like a twisting knife ripping a soul bare ~ bloodless, yet endless, like a drumbeat without a drummer. But it can harden— stony, cold, devoid of warmth or grace, vengeful and wicked... when pierced by a heartless mind. Then it flows with invisible venom ~ clouding the brain like a purple haze, killing, maiming... capable of every evil. Like roses— with a range of wildly different scents ~ so is my life: love, hatred, joy— kindness and wickedness all imbued. Sometimes, it sweetly lingers... other times, it odiously putrefies.