Thought Pieces

A Garden of Roses

I once was in love, with a women so beautiful that they referred to her as Aphrodite, she was a goddess in deed.

I knew her as Laura; the times were good the times were grand.

Time would stop, when we would stand.

I use to tell her, that if I had a rose for every time I thought of her, then I would walk through a garden for life. And she would always reply to me, Roses have thorns baby.

I never understood her, until now.

Out of no where, she cut me off, blind from the consequences, like a gardener cutting his flowers from their roots, doing more harm then good.

The pain was so bad, like being stabbed in the heart, pins being slowly pushed in.

And that's when it hit me, these were the thorns in which she spoke of.

I wasn't walking through a garden of roses any more, more like a valley of thorns.

The thorns hurt, I try and run out of the valley, but the thorns increased, the field thickened, and the valley grew longer.

The end isn't even in sight anymore; the sun is blocked out.

Why has she done this to me, she set me up in a trap, but why?

Has she been hurt by another man in the past, and she's getting back through me?

I don't really care; there is no explanation for bringing on this kind of pain on any body.

As I run through the field, the thorns tear away at my body, blood trails behind me, as my blood level drops, I feel weak and drop to my knees.

As I lookup to the sky to seek an answer to all my questions, I see nothing but blood covered thorns, blood from others, but mainly blood from myself.

How many others has she hurt, how many more are to come?

How many will she hurt before her thirst for vengeance is done?

She is no rose; no she is a flytrap.