My bloody rose

The bloody rose.
The one I hold.
A rose so pure.
A rose,
White as snow
Tainted in blood.
My blood.
My Pain.

It was before,
I only held a single white rose.
Flying across the sky,
As a Broken Fallen Angel
Now Its tainted in blood
Of the smallest things that hurt the most.
Of All the worst times
It bled.
It only hurt a lil at first.
Now its excurisiating almost numbing.

If this goes on,
Could I bath my rose in my blood?
If this goes on,
Can I really survive?

Looking at the rose.
All I see is a symbol.
A symbol of something so pure.
So delicate,
So beautiful
Covered in pain,
blood.
It is sort of like me in a way.

Let me be.
Let me fly off.
If you look closely at the night sky,
You will see a Broken Fallen Angel,
With a single rose in her hand..