Society’s Throne

The scent of a rose is as fresh as the earth after its rained.

The sub aqueous colour, as red as boiling blood.

It’s thorns as sharp as the silver edge of a blade,

Still pretty as it withers away by the window,

Distressingly bidding farewell to the world.

Oh darling you’re a blossom, don’t let this society get to you,

They’re all the thorns.

#InkedPerceptions

 

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