Sitting in a field: Peer Pressure.
Splitting skin to yield: Fear Pleasure.
New grass swords slice/bite toes/knees.
“You, pass me the white rose. Please?”
Slip into my hand with ease.
“Grip sin, so we stand sharp bees.
Sip gin to free bland. The sleaze.”
Snippin’ two stalks, while the breeze
of blood ends talks of fake squeeze.
“One,” we say, “the bust of veins.
None betray the trust of pains.”
Skin displays red rusted chains.
“Dawn the day,” spread misted stains,
‘cross the sky bled twisted lanes.
Gloss the eye, rush ruptured mains,
sewage pipes spray, spirit wanes.
New age wipes away old scars.
Rib cage rests today, cold bars,
this sage guessed the way, so far.
Engage, lest we stray bizarre,
explore flame, poetic star...
Adore these pasts, scrawled and marred:
Memories, enthralled, stand guard.
Contrast truth. Myth flows. Lies accrue.
I pass: new red rose... on to You.