Severed sutures made of thorns constrict my heart,
Which slowly decays from the corrosive toxicity,
Exposing the valves to the cold blow of solemn embrace..
*
A scent that had once been pleasant violates my lungs,
Regretting the allure of ceasing my loneliness..
*
What had once filled a void now tears a flesh wound,
Wilting inside before it could bloom,
The curse of bearing that poison rose.
About the Creator
Sincerely Rob
Escaping to the past with dark visions of the future while stuck in the present
Reader insights
Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Top insights
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Comments (1)
Oh, that's the Poison Rose's Curse I think. Well done, I love this. Thanks for sharing :) Rob!