Fiction

I turn my back for a second
Then the dead roses sprouted up from the bottom,
Lacking courage to call your wrongs
And now all of these thorns are leaving me haunted.

Once believed you were my brother
But how could you know when I dwelled in an autumn,
Building these bridges to be sure
If this is depicting at all what I wanted.

You play descriptions reluctant
Like you own the puzzle but don't know the problem,
Lighting up fiction to dispel
The reasons for how all of this even started.
Musings mistaken, a cannon loaded
And now it's pointed inside my head.