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Death of a Rose
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here in my home.
i didn't know that i would be able to bring it home at the time.
i didn't have anything that would give me hope or a sense of hope at that time.
i just wandered,
stepping and walking past the neighbors,
who looked at me with "what the hell is that idiot doing now?"
I just walked
up to the gathering place of spending and greed. just walked into it. i was in a daze as i walked into the maelstrom, dancing between the uncaring, the bored, the senseless.
i turned my head and saw a store of paintings and was turned by my feet towards it. i don't know why i simply stepped towards or why i perused cheap copies of cheap copies.
i scattered behind the shelves the meant as decoration and came upon a small reproduction. i knew that it was a repro. but i couldn't see past the breath stealing woman i saw in native garb, standing besides a painted horse.
i saw it and was mesmerized and had to have it.
and that painting sung to me, made me touch the clouds. i touched it and was made envious of the lines of her.
she is now my possessive soul, watching her as she knows she possesses me.
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