Source: dolcemania
My Battered Heart
The rose drifts to the ground,
Petals dry and wilting in the cold breeze.
A death resembling the demise of my heart
As an unraveling of feelings turns to dust.
A shoe grinds the rose petals to oblivion,
The preferred state of my battered heart.
The wind lifts the remnants of the flower
to circle around me with its dying breath.
