“Dripping Rose” By: Kirk Gilbert © 2005
I ware my smile like a crying clown just a mask to hide behind so I will not be seen as medusa. I look through the pain that nobody knows but me. I lay at night thinking of a place that is unreal, a place so real in my mind I could reach out and touch it like the pedals of a rain dripped rose. When I try to touch that rose I feel it is no more than a desert rose. The rose I touch is a wilted bleeding bone with a wound that cries the blood of my pain and the thorns that cut my hand so deep to my bone brings tears to my eyes. I look to the moon for comfort, but it is red. I look to the storm, the rain so clean and pure. But the lightning is blood dripped and evil. I look to the ground so natural, but it is sinking like quicksand. I look to the air, but it is polluted. I look to me, but I am a weak wilted freak in a world so unforgiving of what I have done. How dose this freak become unborn, for that is upon the way to undo what I have done to receive the wrath I suffer everyday. I wish to take my hand off with less pain, but that would bring and fountain of terror to this hunted soul so cold in the light of night. How can a soul so hurt so punished so used be filled with the love for others for I am not worthy to hold the flame that was stolen so long ago? I reach out of my cage for my perfect rose to grab the blood within my soul that is hollow and falls to dust. I am unwanted as the dust in my hand so worthless in forever nights I receive the wrath I can not escape from. This is my prison for forever. Till forever falls to dust and this mask I ware falls away to the empty space that is a void in it self.
"I will never forget, nor shall I choose too remember."