When Will It Be My Time To Shine? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Roses are pulsating with rare petal shades bleeding
Their thorns must be cutting me really-bad
I'm falling into ruins and frail feathered tatters
But I can't cry, not when I'm doused in their perfume
Please explain the spate of all these attacks
Each spindrift hour is on fire serpentine
But I'm still walking in a snow-filled gutter
Wondering when, when will it be my time to shine?
I to could pulsate, radiant in your eyes
I to could spill out an ocean of vermillion dyes
Tints the color of your yearning cries.
Roses are pulsating with rare petal shades bleeding
Their thorns must be cutting me really-bad
Because I'm flailing like a drowning swimmer
But I'm no more unfeeling than a faithful friend
Who wants to swear their loyalty can't ever be crushed
Their love is a wave without tears foaming up
Their love is the buoy you're reaching out for
But you're drowning now so deep
One more dissatisfactory kiss
Might not meet the means to save your infantile life
Oh, vermillion kisses there like dragon tooth daggers,
Vermillion kisses are like daggers with hot breath
Oh, a bee inches into a hole, its death
A hive that for a second holds no more, sticky ending regrets.
I'm falling into ruins and frail feathered tatters
But I can't cry, not when I'm doused in their perfume
Please explain the spate of all these attacks
Each spindrift hour is on fire serpentine
But I'm still walking in a snow-filled gutter
Wondering when, when will it be my time to shine?
I to could pulsate, radiant in your eyes
I to could spill out an ocean of vermillion dyes
Tints the color of your yearning cries.
Roses are pulsating with rare petal shades bleeding, ooh,
Ooh, their thorns must be cutting me really-bad