bleached fire roses

the colour seems to hurt my e y e s
you know me well
they’re all (bleached) white
too well?
and it burns, through the shadows
I know you well
a fire on stark white paper, it never goes out
too well?
it almost seems like a signal
: danger: danger: danger :
you’re telling me without words
I know me well
you’re telling me you’re sorry
too well?
and I’m telling myself there’s nothing wrong
because that’s what I do

: get out : get out : get out :

stark white roses,
blood red rose,
in between the others,
the red rose glows.

: danger : danger : danger :

and I keep telling myself there’s nothing wrong.