Black roses...

12 roses blossom to die so someone can smile from within. One must allow old self to be forgotten to exist in luv’s moment to grin. Dying at the end of luv as petals fall like thoughts in the mind. It's always the demise of something beautiful for a new to begin. Snipped from the life to leave the root once sprouted as if they wanna claim the win. Once another witnesses the sensation of life's deteriorating agony that slowly over rides the pulse. Fading from the nutritional value that once flowed prior to all the talk. One rose, one luv. One moment, one rotting trust. Ashes to dust, like memories lost to the existence of vibrant peace. Plucked in an in particular type of way fingers tug to let loose of the process no longer in need. Thrown away. Discarded for a fresh symbolism to revive the smile meeting the day. From red to black. Removing the thorns that protect the core wanting to remain intact. Death to the feel is the use of the cycle once time takes it turn to revolve. As another will crate the same awe that the prior has in the sake to evolve...

Cut. By luv...

Feeling hands squeeze the brain. unwanted cuts is what comes from it. Pain. Another unattainable flow of intellect pouring free through thoughts. But at what cost when judgements finds reason in the loss? The ooze in between fingers is more than blood as mercy is saving the solitude for a peaceful end. Family hurts the most when they refuse to bend. Every word unspoken creates an unrealized use. In eventual accuracy as the tongue begins to move. In the hidden gems of the cherished process of coexisting, tucked away are secrets no one knows. Until fingertips poke at the only place known as home. As eyes close in disbelief. The world changes without relief. It sends tongues curling for some do not care for anyone except self. So who’s who when your turn is dealt? They’ll come for the completion of sanity guarded from the familiarity of trust attacking itself in the middle of ruins. As the chatter that makes up the space dead center from ear to ear echoes a booing. Egos surface without accountability as the silence eases in to adjust to the way self is to maneuver with life. They don't know of the grip they have on the heart until it is needed to be protected by even those closest to the mind. Cut. By luv...