bed of roses.

that bed you are lying in, like a dead deer, so calm and sprawled out, do you really want to lay there till the sky crumbles to pieces and every stone effigy of every known god has weathered down to unrecognizable heaps of nothing? rose scented air, petals cupping your elbows; a sensory feast upon the romantic pillows of nature. it has the sound and appeal of bathing in ambrosia. but you would tire of the smell of roses and you would wish that the stems hadn't been dethorned, haunted by what it used to feel like to be pricked in the finger and seeing crimson proof of your human design. stand up while there is time left, and walk away from that four poster throne and go make yourself a home amongst the tangled weeds. they writhe and steal, but at least they don't conceal their motives and want to live as badly as you do.

ps.
i picked up a pair of vintage michael kors platform wedges for $16. i want to share pictures, but i'm afraid one of you might come and steal them. they are that good.