My Personal Form of Torture

Standing in a gray dress
with long and flowing hair
walking through a garden
there's sadness in the air

the garden is black and dead
burned and rotted through
there's just one thing that stands out
a red rose, sprinkled with dew

I walk towards this rose
knowing that it soon will die
I reach out my hand to pick it
no one is nearby

as my fingers close 'round the stem
I forgot that there are thorns
it pricks my hand and heart
with sharp things this rose is adorned

I fall upon the ground
blood gushing from my heart
hurting, hurting, hurting
this is the worst part

as I die, the pain slips away
until I feel so numb
and then I'm gone, just gone
what have I become?

then

someone calls my name
rescues me from my mind
thank god, this daydream is over
now sleep takes me, oh so kind