Tear in the Crimson Satin
A poem of how even a rose can communicate its pains
You gave me a rose from your garden.
I wish I’d known what I know now,
that your garden was barren.
I put your curated rose in a vase.
It was dark, so I couldn’t see the water
change color inside, it stood transparent.
What was once clear, became the color of
bloodied mud. I couldn’t just bring myself to
peek inside and see. Nor could I stand to
smell the petals’ core. I thought it would smell
like love. Instead, I smelled the symbol of
decayed romance, discordant harmony.
Hi, I’m Spooky Bambina, writing as Spooky Bee Jones. Call me Spooky™. Did you enjoy this writing? Clap, save, and share with me your thoughts in the comments below. Thanks for reading, cool cats!
To see more of my writing in other places, as well as my other renaissance woman endeavors, and keep up-to-date with my wacky supernatural adventures, visit my Beacons page.
