Buried

With a body of a rose but bite like a thorn.
You bathe in the lovely while others to scorn.
Forget those in need, who are crying in pain.
Only beautiful are noticed, only room for the vain.
For you cry tears of wine and thy blood so pure.
But your heart is so shallow, there is no cure.
You are untouchable, set in a cloud of dreams.
Perfectly living, or so it seems.
For your hear is uglier than any weed.
Materialism and hate is accomoponied by greed.
While you look down on others you hate yourself more.
Your life is empty, the nothingness galore.
You made your bed intending to sleep.
But in the end you are buried too deep.