it's full of red roses,
the basket you carry,
i know
because i've spent years getting to know them.
and then comes
the procession,
a recession, really,
back to the days before the roses bloomed.
but i can only be content
to wander aimlessly
within my head,
because i don't know what i should feel.
there is no burning here,
barely yearning,
simply anger,
and that is never so noble as they make it out.
1 comment:
a tisket
a tasket
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