A Rosy writer

 I ain't the writer, you ain't the rose

In the benediction of love I hate to seek  

In the Turmoil of despair I grow out to be with you

Don't cease me let me fly

Don't hide me let me Heal

Why do you want to seizure this love

When you know that my love is like abandoned  Lucifer

The places I go the places I want

The heart that i owe can virtue my past

I am trying to die

Die besides you

I am trying to live

In the worst fairy tale of wholesome broken truth.

I cherish your heart,

but I cherish mine too,

I hate to love you,

but then I started hating Myself too.

I blink.my open eyes,

I die when sigmund lies,

I touch the holy grail,

I.move inside with empty grace.

but then we both align,

my dying species cater to write  something for you every Monday night,

but it was Tuesday

,I got late, but still got time.

it says, in the frame of paper,

the poems I write for you,

can paint the story of a intimidating rose,

I am the buyer of the poem, and you are it's thorn.

as I ain't the writer

and you ain't the rose,

the world is filled with so much disparities,

but still I am binded to fall for all your flaws.