It’s one big tragedy, for-
This monochromic rose that grows in my garden,
I could only care for the thorns,
For I couldn’t touch the petals,
It’ll be shredded ;
Nor could I smell it ;
Too damaged to feel it;
I only could watch it from a great distace,
Admire it, worship it but never to reach it when it blooms,
Anhedonic in a trance,
Bowing before you, humbly;
Forgive me if I fail to understand,
My memories in persistence;
Servitude is existence.
Forget me when I say my name,
Edward Scissorhands.