Have you ever felt so alive but suffocated for air, the rose bedded garden has thorns so beware.
Walk through the garden as you catch your last breath, admire the beauty but respect the death.
Are the rose petals yellow, pink, or red? The color of crimson is what she dreads .
As the soft rose petals caress her skin, subtly the jagged thrones trace her sins.
In the garden of Eve is where I shall bury my past, a record of sins that no longer will be rehashed.
RMB Poetry 🖤 