my lungs are still raw with winter, even though it's late March
my skin is starved for warmth and I turn to the sun,
fragile and thin like a flower

you might think of me as weak and fickle, but in reality,
I'm a belladonna,
a rose,
a shallow pond in the summer

I draw you in with the promise of beauty,
but if you come near me I will destroy you

because beneath the surface lurks poison
and thorns
and enough teeth to rip you to shreds