You look so happy sitting nice and pretty
the sun reflecting off your skin
the pigment of your cheeks resembles that of a rose
my pretty little rose you will forever be
the feeling that abrupt's inside of me with even the smallest touch
you are the will to my power
I promise to protect and care for you
when times get rough i'll still be found
not one person in this whole world can take me away
I am your protector and that way, it will stay.
You will not long for anything for I will do my best
to make sure you have all you need and more for the rest
of your life.
My pretty little rose!
About the Creator
Maria D
Just someone who enjoys to write, and explore her mind. I love to read, especially when they turn into movies in my head.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis7 days ago in Humans
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