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Bled Onto a Rose
February 25, 2019
i bled onto a rose
staining the petals with my liquid
the thorn digging
piercing
carving
into my flesh
in a vivid haste
the danger slipped my mind
the rose struck at me
lured me in as a succubus does her prey
my failure reminded
by trails of red
blood-stained hands
a killer’s soul
the devil’s eyes
the crimson veil we will all don
i bled onto a rose
as its brothers watched
susceptible to their song of sweetness
promise of beauty
only to be fulfilled
with my sweet crimson nectar
as the petals’ decor.
© Monica L., St. George, UT
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This poem addresses the paradox that is the rose. In it, the notion that "a cover is not the book" is addressed, as I acknowledge how beauty can still bring about pain.