The Red rose killer
By Daisy Sasangan
I kept holding on to the dead rose,
Dead it was indeed.
I struck the life out of it,
When I pluck it, from the
Red blooming rose tree,
Something came over me.
I don’t know why I wanted the rose.
Perhaps I felt greedy, but darkness filled me.
I kept plucking dozen of roses from the tree,
I could smell their freshness drift to the smell of death.
I felt pleasure doing this.
squeezing them so tight with my bare hands,
As if I were to strangle them.
I began to hit the roses against a huge tree
I felt pleasure as the petals fall to the ground
I stomp on the petals I don’t know why
But it made me felt better
I got the anger out of me, but it made me a killer.