Where the Thorns Remember Me

Date: June 17, 2025 I wandered through a bleeding dusk, the wind forgot my name. A rose was growing from the dust— I reached, and it became the fog that hums like swallowed screams. My lungs forget to breathe. I taste old blood beneath my tongue. Each petal cuts me in my sleep— what did I dare believe? Each step I took was stitched with fear, my lungs too tired to cry. The thorns grew taller year by year— no stars remained in sky. The rose I found—its crimson face still beautiful, still wrong. It bled me when I touched its grace and whispered, “You belong.” I walk through air too thin to hold. The sky is ash and rust. I don’t know if I’m growing old— or simply turning dust.