untitled

the line "melancholy was the rose bush" came into my head about 1:30 am this morning, and I couldn't go to sleep unless I finished it. Thus is the life of a bipolar poet.

Melancholy was the rose bush
that met me at the door

beautiful and a smell so sweet,
but melancholy just the same

I went to hold her
but thorns kept me at bay

In the end I could do nothing to keep
the roses from drooping