The pricks are nothing to me
They sting, sure, every now and then
But it is their smell that makes me come for more
I love it, and need it as much as the air I breathe
The pricks are nothing to me
They draw blood, I know
But it’s their softness that I remember
When I tenderly stroke the petals
The pricks are nothing to me
Their pain is easily swallowed
Lost behind the brightness of color
The scars are forgotten before they’re received
CaliStray 