​Many offered a hand to set me free.
I told them to wear gloves
and to beware of the thorns
hidden amongst the blooms,
ready to penetrate their skin,
but no one heeded my warning,
 
they were enchanted
by the fragrance,
bewitched by the beauty,
the pastel pink delicacy
of petals pleading to be picked
and blind to the thorns
ready to pierce
ready to strike,
 
thorns as hidden as the worms,
the maggoty munchers
now metamorphosing
into manifestations
of  new growth,
hands
ungloved
and unmarked
elegantly enticing them
to join me in the dark
unsettling heart.