Black Roses

Writing

Black roses that surround me are flooded with the pitter patter of a constant rain that judges the value of my soul. I imagined the roses whispering all around me as if they were my consciousness. They tell me of all the wrongs that I committed in my life, yet I ignore them. I lift my eyes to the sky and let the drops fall upon my face as if they will cleanse me of the sorrow that fills me from the tips of my toes to the last hair that is raised upon my head. I know this sorrow and loneliness will leave later on anyway. For now I want to bask in its current presence, because it is the realest emotion I have. I want to be happy but I know that happiness is the hardest thing to achieve so I’ll keep these rain drops company and let them judge the value of my soul, maybe I’ll be valued enough to be loved, to be wanted. The whispers are louder than ever it’s hard to block them out when they speak the truth. I turn my head down and grasp the fanged stem of a black rose. It sinks its fangs deep into my finger tips, I try to ignore the pain and I raise the rose to my ear and slowly listen to the thoughts that it whispers. Educated whispers that resonant the emotions that I feel now, I held the rose closer the feeling it gave me was of comfort and something that nothing else had done for me. I ignore the pain and just let the blood slowly fall from grace. I buried myself away within a crypt of roses that would stay within the shadows. Their whispers were alive inside of me they took away the worry. I don’t want to be awoken; I just want to stay here with the essence of my being slowly slipping away from me because I know I will be hurt by my darkest truths and scariest dreams.

I can still hear the rain it still judges the value of my soul.

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