The rose, my rose just lies there silent; dead.
There are 5 green leaves hanging from the rose
They dance on the stem as they bleed dark red
The petals are falling from head to toe
The rose is duller, lines run up the spine
The lines strain the rose, they're powerfully curled.
Do I want this rose? I ask, yes it's mine.
The rose tries to stay away from the world
The rose has a never ending middle
It turns and twist like a unfinished tale
I see the last petal, tries to fiddle
A rose no longer red but very pale.
As i took off the last petal I froze
And realized that was the end of my rose.
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