When Flowers Cry.
When Flowers Cry
Carefully I touched the crimson flower, avoiding the eager thorns, desperate to cut through my skin.
But I wasn’t careful, not careful enough.
The thorns sliced through my skin, ripping their way to my blood thirsty for blood, until one single drop oozed from my finger tip. Softly and quietly it fell and descended onto the white flower.
Can flowers bleed? I thought to my self, the drop skidded down from the petal leaving behind a trail of crimson. Slowly it reached the tip were for a second it faltered, before falling, like a tear drop, leaving behind a creature once pure in feeling.
My finger lingered on the petal wanting to caress the now humid and gleaming surface. But thinking it through I let the rose fall to the ground hoping that someone else might listen to the flowers cry, just like I did today.
But I wasn’t careful, not careful enough.
The thorns sliced through my skin, ripping their way to my blood thirsty for blood, until one single drop oozed from my finger tip. Softly and quietly it fell and descended onto the white flower.
Can flowers bleed? I thought to my self, the drop skidded down from the petal leaving behind a trail of crimson. Slowly it reached the tip were for a second it faltered, before falling, like a tear drop, leaving behind a creature once pure in feeling.
My finger lingered on the petal wanting to caress the now humid and gleaming surface. But thinking it through I let the rose fall to the ground hoping that someone else might listen to the flowers cry, just like I did today.