Roses Are Red, Violets Are Farcical

Roses are red, ever redder when enraged. Violets are blue, farcical as a cartoon page. Those roses spread upon you’re aloneness bed, and violets, the vigil of black and blue knees. The redness of hair stripped of pretty petals. A blue countenance that settles in the heart. An infant-like scream turning crimson as the sun, and inkblot blue with padded walls, facing no one. Roses are red, violets are blue...you walk into walls Like a wounded bouquet. Yet life calls...life calls. He hands you tulips instead of death. You rejoice in his gift. This one does not deceive. He loves you, not loves you not. 3/28/2018