another older piece. for once, not a poem about myself. more of a story poem y'know? not one of my best, but i like the mood/tone of this one. enjoy. constructive criticism is appreciated, thanks.

forever falling
by stephinika

She clutched the rose in her fists
Knuckles turning white
Slowly the thorns dig into her skin
Making her blood drip to the ground
The wind blew madly around her small body
Rain splashing hard in the dirt
Her eyes were closed, her back bent forward
A tear escaped her tightly shut lids
And mixed with the falling rain
She held a single red, red rose
Almost in full bloom
In a gust of wind, it seemed to her
That it had become a wilting, dark black
Hands now sore and dripping with blood
She took a step forward
Just far enough to see the crashing water below
With a simple toss, the rose fell far, far down
And with one more simple step
Her frail figure followed
Falling…falling…falling…

I love the comparison of you to a rose.
The clutching of the rose gave the sense of you feeling trapped by your emotions.
I got the idea of your emotional maturity/growth being cut short. Something along those lines.
As with yourself
This is what convinced me that you and the rose were one in this poem.

I like it. Good job. Hope to see more work from you, whether it be old or new.