Red Rose

There is a red rose,
It lies there so quietly,
The silence is deafening to her ears,
She stares at the red rose as she wipes her flowing tears.

There is a red rose,
Its petals are red,
The color makes her blind,
She feels the red rose as she thinks of the life he left behind.

There is a red rose,
Thorns line its stem,
The sharp edges cut her hand,
She throws the red rose and she wonders where it may land.

The red rose is silent,
Silent as she screams,
The red rose has color,
She is grey,
So it seems.

The red rose has thorns,
Thorns that he placed in her heart,
The red rose is brittle,
Just as she was from the start.

The red rose is her life,
But also it is her death,
He gave her this red rose,
And now she was ready to take her last breath.

The red rose is in her hand,
In the other is a knife,
She stares at the red rose he gave her,
She is ready to take her life.

The red rose is soaked in her blood,
She cries out in pain,
The red rose seems to mock her,
She is going insane.

He comes in,
The red roses petals shed,
He sees her there,
Dead.

The red rose lies on her grave,
He never came,
The red rose is alive,
Though her heart no longer beats,
The red rose stays the same.