she is not made of roses
flowers do not bloom in her presence,
nor do they bloom in the deep crevices
of her mind.
she isn't made of roses
but of fragile skin
and thin bones.
she isn't made of roses
but is intricately woven of wary eyes
and tight smiles.
she is not made of roses,
but that's okay,
because they never liked roses
anyway.
Humans are weird, aren't we? Music can either soothe us or ignite us, some of us like painting out our desires on worthless pieces of paper, but make millions off of it. We find value in the most empty things, we create our own philosophies and wonder how we made it. We ponder the inevitable and wonder the extremes. But we function, don't we? I guess there's always a little bit of beauty among the ruin.
I chose these two pieces mainly because on the days that I wrote them, the words just came freely. I didn't really have to think about it with either of them at all. After writing them it kinda shocked me because I've never really considered my writing very good but I thought these were some of the best pieces I've written.
