Bitter Petal

I gazed at my hands, resting on the velvet sofa. They whispered of my prurient nature, Their shame tracing back to me like veins through stone. They begged for freedom, for distance, for release. When they struck my cheek, I felt. How could I be so undone, so undealt? The cold embraced me, a lifeless hug that lingered. My knees confessed their love for hope, A secret I swore not to betray. They murmured in silent tongues, While the roses, their petals weeping, Promised they would mend my fractured life. I severed my legs, trading flesh for fleeting dreams. I risked unravelling my mind, A marionette of lies tucked into the smallest threadbare blanket of warmth. They lulled me with fire, But it only singed the truth my hands had once tried to slap into me. Now, I dream of the cold mist that coils around the hearth, Where beauty meets its beastly tormentor. The frost bites, laughs, and mocks, While the fire flickers in its cruel rhythm. Such bitter words, laced with sweetness, Like a warm blaze in the midst of a winter’s wretched embrace.