Finest Thorns
Send me a rose with the finest thorns, Blood like cherry wine, and I saw the storm unwind, Your scent, gluing itself in front of my curiosity And in a moment you’ll be gone dear, To a land where farmers are grazing kings, To another world where time sits in a broken rocking chair, Creaking, ticking, tocking, and its all too much to be left here alone, I received your letter the other day Stating you were doing fine, decreeing your happiness, And how it crippled my eyes, those green marbles of nothing, Shedding a world of unwanted grace, Thrown out the door, waiting for you in the rain, Send me a rose with the finest thorns, Cut off my air, Cut off my hands, Cut off my arms, Maybe then I wont be so quick to reach for you, And I received a letter from you the other day, Your words just seemed so whole, so reposed, Nothing left to do...waiting each night, With that damned wilted rose...And sometimes love in its purity, stones me numb...when i'm choking on the aftermath Written October 4th, 2001 © on Oct 04 2001 01:51 PM PST 0 • 8
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"Send me a rose with the finest thorns, ..."