Poor roses

You have roses in your garden
But they are lies
How can something so beautiful belong to someone so ugly
Your false rose bed is where I must’ve lived
Under the dirt
Under your love
With the worms and the damp and roots
Your false roses grow up full and bright
But I know they know who they belong to
Because so did I
I knew. And so do they.
They never say anything though
They’re not clever enough
They’re too mild so they endure under your falsehood and they will until they die
I suppose I did say something
Otherwise I don’t suppose I’d be here now
It would be another version entirely
The one you tried to create
Perhaps unwittingly
I don’t know anymore
But I’ll always think of those poor roses
Growing for you
Being bright and brilliant for you
You never deserved any of it


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