2004. A man that my father wanted me to marry bought me flowers on almost every visit. I decided that I wanted to know what roses tasted like. The roses I tasted was white. I had also read a story about monsters that dressed up as humans for celebration and a child who befriended one of the monsters. Both are related in my twisted mind.
Metamorphosis
the essence of roses, a bittersweet sympthony
white roses are especially bitter
sweet purity
slowly melting into painful bitterness on the tongue
the mind flows in a garden
where the the feathers of a golden pheonix
become the brightest serene light
which emits only warmth to the heart
Graceful butterflies
the metamorphisis of light
in a garden
on a mountain
where monsters are human
and the fireflies never die
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