For all my favorite Roses
 
Born into tragedy;
   she is celebrated, adored, nurtured, envied, blessed -
   she is beaten, sacrificed, scrutinized, enslaved, damned -
 
Sadness accompanies her along moon-lit sands,
She knows that with Sadness comes calloused hands.
 
Her footsteps mirage a tale of fallen beauty-
Precise and controlled, yet liberating;
Effortless.
 
Here was, the silhouette of a woman who wears sadness like a Queen.
With lips that part for careless whispers that ease self-loathing.
She weighs each sin upon her wrists, embracing the wholeness of emptiness-
Beauty blossoms, stemming from her fresh wounds she has evolved from enduring to living.
She dreams of
                                 c l o u d s &
                                      graves,
                         fleeting,
           inconstant,
  evanescent.