My life is like a wound I scratch so I can bleed
Regurgitate my words, I write so I can feed
And Death grows like a tree that’s planted in my chest
Its roots are at my feet, I walk so it won’t rest
Oh, Baby I am Lost…
I try to push the colors through a prism back to white
To sync our different pulses into a blinding light
And if love is not the key. If love is not a key.
I hope that I can find a place where it could be
I know that in your heart there is an answer to a question
That I’m not as yet aware that I have asked
And if that tree had not drunk my tears
I would have bled and cried for all the years
That I alone have let them pass
Oh, Baby I am yours…”
This black rose succulent flower was just an itty-bitty one when I first planted it on my outdoor patio, about four years ago. Since then, I’ve seen it grow tall and lean, seen it shed its petals over the years. I guess I always expected that someday, it was going to grow too tall and topple over from being top-heavy.
It’s been a while, admittedly, since I’ve taken a look at it. But lo and behold—how it has proved me wrong. Not only is it as tall and strong as ever, but this black rose has grown into two.
It sort of takes my breath away.