in his hands are yellow carnations
beautiful, really
but glaring to the eye and
painful to touch.
her heart's bleeding crimson roses
because, how many times
has he done this
begging for forgiveness after
(a night of fun
a night of pleasure)
a night of hurt
a night of tears?
no, she really shouldnt accept those flowers
but soft and forgiving
weak and just so yielding
she does,
and
a week after
he comes with yellow carnations
and her heart's still bleeding crimson roses.
Labels: poetry