Thorns

Thorns, though they may appear small,

have a disposition ever so tall.

Harmless though they may seem,

their true ferocity hides just beneath each wicked scheme.

 

One becomes so engrossed in the beauty of the pedals,

they seem to forget all about those pesky little devils.

Enraptured by the scent, prick after prick goes undetected,

as the attractive aesthetic and fragrance are lethally complected.

 

The scarlet shades of each and every rose they so adorn

act as a masked foreshadowing of the shades of scarlet to be worn

once the fragile skin has been torn

at the inevitable touch of each and every deadly thorn.

 

Each prick, while in itself appears ever so harmless,

is a crucial part of a far greater plot of darkness

in which the frenzied fragrance fills one’s lungs with a poison of such lethal affliction

And the pitiless pricks fill one’s bloodstream with a substance of pure addiction.

 

At the break of the spell, one can feel the sting,

can see plainly the pools of red as they cling,

but the deed is done, and one finds themselves returning for more and more each day,

living at the mercy of the red rose until they reach the grave in which they must forever stay.

 

The scarlet shades of each and every rose these thorns so adorn

act as a masked foreshadowing of the shades of scarlet to be worn

once the fragile skin has been torn

at the inevitable touch of each and every deadly thorn.

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