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
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