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Wilted Rose
March 12, 2018
One by one each petal changed.
From bright red to a deep rust, falling to the floor with each passing day.
Once a yellow yacht now a tiny rowboat,
in a sea of blues and grays.
Like the wallpaper in a decrepit house; peeling and
crumbling with age, our love grew old.
Two wildfires within dwindling to a dead lighters’ flame,
failing to even ignite.
A bleeding heart spilling into a once clear pool where hate now swims.
Our love grew to an abhorrence.
© Anonymous
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