Night Among Thorns

As the blood begins to stream
from her pricked finger tips
a wave of release overcomes,
and an unguarded whimper
escapes her thoughtless eyes.

Lying alone among the comfort
of cool thorns her thin body,
contorted to conceal it from
passing good will ambassadors,
sheds another layer of innocence
with each regurgitated memory
that floods her frail conscience.

A heart of stone drowning
in its own river of blood
imprints the saddest tale
on overhead rose pedals
with its last gasping breath.
A tale of pain that laced
even the happiest moments
and made the darkest
even darker than the souls
who took pleasure
in her eternal circle of plight.

The night will wane and the sun
reach out, in vane, to warm
her lifeless body. But the night
will come again
and she will remain, alone.
Her soul entering the veins
of those cool thorns
that pierced her sides
while smoothing her muddied hair,
now growing up between her bones.