Thank you, my dear,
I appreciate it, my dear,
Oh please, my dear,
It is all lies.
I am not another pretty face,
And words still hurt me.
There is sorrow,
There is pain,
And, yes, my dear,
There is suffering.
Thank you, my dear,
For telling me.
I had noticed.
But you had not.
What is the world to you, my dear?
Let’s escape away,
My dear,
There is no need to stay.
What holds us here, my dear?
Leave with me.
Thank you, my dear,
For the stab in the back,
And the long incision
Where the knife belongs.
I knew already, my dear,
Don’t feel remorse.
I don’t blame you,
There is no need.
A time ago, I might have turned
And pretended not to see.
But my eyes opened, my dear,
And I burn inside,
A secret wish,
To close them off again.
What has happened, my dear?
Where have you gone?
Thank you, my dear,
For the secret roses
Left in the dark
On a moonless night.
No one gave me flowers before.
I noticed, my dear,
I must have repulsed you,
I noticed, my dear,
That you did not attend.
What is Poe’s “Tell-Tale Heart” to you,
Is that what I am?
A thump in your mind,
To drive you insane,
Like me?
The roses are beautiful, my dear,
Black,
Like you,
Against the gray granite.
It is cold, my dear,
But I do not fear.
Thank you, my dear,
But I ask you again,
What is the world to you?
, I like this poem a lot, the imagery could've been a little stronger. The most vivid things I was unable to not imagine would be the knife, so it is up to you if you wish to improve the imagery, I don't know if there is something specific you want us to pick up on, but that part is strongest in my mind. Great poem, keep up the good work. Very deep.
