Scattered Rose Petals

CATEGORY

first love

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She loves me.

She loves me not.

She loves me.

She loves me not.

She loves him...

Unlike a hym.

Music to my ears.

Comparison to a lobster getting cooked.

An earie sound that leaves even the chef spooked.

My bouqet for her overlooked.

Set aside among her old books.

Brought colour to the hard covers.

Back when her and I were loves.

Now its merged with the deep brown.

From standing up right to slanting down.

The thorns became soft and unsharp.

Like the decending notes as you get closer and closer to one end of a harp.

The roses were closer and closer to being no more.

Dehydrated aquiering dust.

If only she knew he's motives with her were full on lust.

With his nature of being drifter he'd move on fast.

And she'd be...dying slowly like the roses in her vase.

Yearning for H2O...even if coming from her face.

Water is life..

Constantly had dreams of her as my wife.

Now she's my X [ex].

Something I didn't expect.

As I lingure on to try solve this equation of which is my life, her I'm missing, I end up with no solution..

No meaning.

No feeling.

Like me...my roses, which shouldn't even be called roses as they are faltering stems with fallen petals.

Colourless.

Meaningless.

Useless.

Scattered on the floor, unlike a honeymoon where It would be a sight to see.

They scattered like flowers on a tombstone after a gust of wind, thrown free.

Free?

So that their seeds can be something..

Scattered petals with a silver-lining