Roses and silk
She was soft and cool to his touch.
He adored her texture of thinking and her quality of the life she lived in.
The rose told him to treat her accordingly or her fabric would fade away into distruction like a mistreated piece in the washingmachine.
Each day he was aware of her thorns, covered by her bloody scarlet hair to surprise strangers when they do their move.
He tried but after some time he grew bored of her complex making of her very own personality.
He grew sulky in his treatments and was pushed out of her life when he cut himself on her thorns, realising he was just not made to care for a rose like her.
She hid danger behind her silky physical being, looking so fragile to the touch but breaking free in chaos once her fabric of skin broke and the lining of her thoughts was free to wrap around everything and drowning it in another reality.
Her reality.
He has learned to not bend a rose.
He is one in a million, with precious wisdom of the complexity we call reality.
The truth.
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This one includes one picture I made some time ago.
I might add bits of my art in the future.
Please do credit me if used.
Thank you!
DU LIEST GERADE
my thoughts, my writing
SonstigesIt is just a little collection of the things I write from time to time. Stuff that comes to my mind while listening to music or reading. I hope it inspires you and is good to read and understand. Enjoy ~ TRIGGER WARNING Various triggers as well as...
