The Bramble

In the day of digital, I withdrew all my cash; one hundred and seventy-three and drove around town buying up all the roses that I could see. Will this conglomerate of different colors which make up a traveling bramble touch her heart as I need it to, a garden of my silent ramble? I walk to her door, face hidden by petals and thorns, a desperate madman seeking redemption for which I wish her soul to be adorn. But it would not be, I didn’t get it right, I’m surrounded by blue and red authoritative lights.