Picked Some Roses.
Picked some roses, walked to clouds
Thorns and pricks hurt not as much
Without satisfaction, triumph, positive red
Trembling fear I conquer to slate
Wait
No stop
Fierce wind blows, petals disperse
In hand I hold sticks of painful empty
Battle I've lost, not by purpose
Not by sloths in me that grave to linger
But the wind
Wind I thought was natural
Looks up, I see you fan away my ace
Joy, grades, dreams, reasons
Reasons to get up every day
Reasons to not grab the blade once again
Reasons to not starve
Not isolate
Not drown
Not jump
Not
Picked some roses, walked to clouds
Thorns and pricks matter no more
without life.
