Angela Crossby (The Well of Loneliness)

She smelled of roses

The kind that are red as blood.

and acted as the sweet companion

the girl had never had in her youth.


She said she

cherished the girl.

She said she

couldn’t live without her.



the pair went on long walks

through winding rose garden trails

and up stony brooks.

Enjoying each other’s company?

But when the day ended,

the woman would always

return to her own garden

(the one that held all the accouterments for her old age).

When she was there

she thought of the day.

She knew that the girl

could not last forever and

she must enjoy with what time she had.


She indulged the girl’s whims,

but she just didn’t tell her

that this time

wouldn’t last forever.


She sucked her happiness.

She sucked the girl’s blood.

Blood pure,

blood red as the garden roses,

blood red as the girl’s still beating heart.


The girl enjoyed it,

the girl enjoyed the attention,

she wanted it

to last forever.


But the woman,

when she heard of this

felt a fear.

She was afraid to lose

the home she had made for herself,

back in her own rose garden.


The woman

did not trust the girl

did not love the girl.

So she concocted a plan

to free herself

of the once slight amusement

that had grown into

a raging headache.


She set the girl’s rose garden on fire

and slithered away like a snake.

She slithered back into

the gates of her little garden,

leaving the girl to sit weeping

in the ashes of the burned down rose garden

that had contained all she knew.

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