Waltz

The rose vines start to travel slowly as I’m laying on the white winter’s grass. Starting to cover my body, I feel the thorns piercing through the small pores leaving me a peculiar numbing pain. Feeding off on the sweet blood red wine, the thorns start to soak up every memory leaving me as cold as the winters air. I think its time, as it starts to shape shift as my past life. Dancing the waltz of the dammed we exchanged looks as I lay on the ground taking my last gasps of air. Am I suppose to fear this monster? I guess not. I guess the wine was too sweet that I became lifeless. Driven by the desire to kill, it hunts for more prey to feed on. Crystallized in this tomb of pedals, I sleep until the monster runs out of wine to drink.