Painting Roses

Shoot me through the heart again,
and let the blood flow out.
With every beat of a dying heart,
the mind starts to shout.

Reader, have you ever wondered,
how roses become so red?
Take a white rose, a paintbrush,
and paint it with the blood I bled.

And as my pulse starts to slow,
the rose becomes stunning.
A masterpiece is being made,
while my blood keeps running.

So, dear reader, you're a murderer,
but murder is an art.
At least this red rose lives on,
instead of my broken, dying heart.