thorns.

a heart bound tightly in a crown of thorns adorns the head every now and again. they retreat to their tower, aloft and aloof, spurning all contact and clutching their crown so close that they bleed. they have never been let down by it before.

in the highest room of the tallest tower, they cower in fear, hands over their ears. in creeps despair as the world opens up and they reach for the abyss of isolation. their crown in their arms, they fall into the depths of the earth, a willing participant.

before they have the chance to achieve some velocity and spiral into oblivion, a hand reaches out, steady and firm, and grabs hold of their crown of vines. the vines crack and they creak, but become a strong rope for all of the times when they’ve run out of hope.

the hand pulls them back up with a rush of reality, solid and stable like rocks of the earth. despite prickles and thorns, a friend has emerged, enduring the pain along with them- a willing participant. a single rose blooms in the center of their crown.

they crack a smile that reaches their eyes for the first time in weeks.