The Fool in the Garden

You are the rose I am gripping tightly. Thin beads of blood are snaking down my wrist, but I am too immersed in you. My happiness that is as sure to leave me again as the sun is sure to set. I'd never forget you, never acknowledge that you are making me bleed or that there are salty stains frozen to my cheeks when you go again. I don't want you to leave me, though it's basically inevitable. I dont want you to feel bad but it wont end painlessly anymore. The thorns have found their place in my palm, nicking vital arteries and stopping me from bleeding out in one swift movement. I cling to you because of a fading feeling like the girls I laugh at cling to whatever useless sentient dildo impregnated them. None of my fancy worlds and forced calm demeanor can save me from being a fool that waits around forever for a perennial that will last a winter with her.