Bloom

The doubt grows in my mind like a blooming rose with many layers and deep shades. It's hard to pick which petals hurt the most although this rose continues to grow and disguise itself so nobody else will see. I cant dispose of this flower because I was the individual who put it there. It's a part of me , forever and always. It's difficult to breathe with something so delicate yet so deceitful. I thought too much of its vibrance and beauty, but didn't consider how long it would take before sharp needle-like thorns would appear. Those thorns made it hard to breathe, they suffocated me at times. They're undoubtedly Sharp, cut me and leave scars on my mind and body. I don't bleed though, the flesh-eating, soul-crushing doubt thrives on my pain. But I understand now that the thorns are there for a reason and I must learn what that Is. Maybe I deserve it. The pain. Maybe I am the painful thorns and deceitful flower in someone else's story.