— the red flower grows.
fire.
flame, flame, flame,
until it is known to you,
that you've lost this game.
spilling ashes over my name,
i was in the bad, was your claim.
flower.
bloom, bloom, bloom,
until it is known to you,
that it is you who's dug your own doom.
i burn those petals of red,
for my blossoms are my perfume.
winter.
blows, blows, blows,
until it is known to you,
redemption in me flows.
for i would rather start my
beginnings, at your close.
YOU ARE READING
swevens of vernorexia
Poetryi shall bloom flowers of love in your heart, so you may bleed petals for blood when i leave.
