"The Red Rose" by Darinlee Needham

I am cursed.

Cursed to look upon the rose. Cursed to only see its large red petals. Cursed to forget what is underneath, Forget what is hidden under its sweet fragrance, Forget all else but its astounding beauty.

And in my forgetfulness, I try to comfort the rose and hold it in my hands.

And as the thorns draw blood, As I scream in pain, As the tears begin to fall, I withdraw from the rose.

I withdraw back, Back from whence I came, Back to where my wounds are mended and healed, Where my tears dry up, Where once again I forget.

I forget about the thorns kiss, Forget about their agonizing touch.

And I find myself wondering back, Back to the sunlit garden, Back to the beautiful rose, Back to the curse, To my waking nightmare, To the great sorrow that awaits all who get too close, All who try to help, All who try to touch the lonely, silent rose.

For the rose sits alone,

Unreachable,

Apart,

Separate.