Beauty Of It All

A thorn hidden
blood trickles down my 
fingertips
as I smell the rose
and admire the beauty
my mind tells me to let go
because it hurts
my senses beg for the scent 
so nice
despite the thorns
as I continue to grip its
stem of reality
I lick my wounds 
and switch hands
getting pricked once more
the petals begin to fall
as I continue to inhale 
what is left of the aroma
I confused with love
but is nothing but a lustful scent
I inhale in desperation
as the last petal falls
leaving the bud
of what was once admired
leaving the thorns
closing my eyes and imagining
what was
which is no more
in my mind
I remember the beauty of it all 
I remember the smell of the rose
I drop the naked stem
and reach for another rose in bloom.

-LolaBee