Dry until they fell one by one and caved.
Bruised wilting, shearing myself at the stem,
Isn’t it so easy for me to fade
Even on the inside. Roses of flesh,
Of blood, of iron rusted steel pricked, so
Made to cut through skinned innocence too fresh:
Exquisiteness peeled commonness to sew.
Too pure, red scent severed opaque. How long
Until the edges curled inwards droop down.
Cracked dreams spoken through stitched up lips all wrong,
All my petals plucked drift onto the ground.
A secret beauty buried inside me,
I love me, I love me not. I love me--
Emma Deimling is currently studying English and Creative Writing at the Ohio State University. Her work has been published in The Ekphrastic Review and Teen Ink Magazine.