A rose I painted on a wooden keepsake box.
There, the letter rests unread.
A few more days, I’ll surely say.
Forever finds its ways, I say.
And surely, my words for you will die.
And the deep betrayal I feel for you inside
Will dream of you in tears of dark blood red.
The letter rests.
I am making it a priority this weekend to paint. The past few weeks have been so busy and I feel like I’ve lost my voice and say throughout it all. Withering. That’s how it will end though. All there is is how I feel and if that doesn’t change, there really isn’t any hope. However it happens, I keep myself buried.