ROSES

When the roses wither,
Though one begs to differ,
A stake to my heart,
And I perish in the river.
Crimson flows through
In the corners and in between
The water I once treasured;
The water that was once clean.

When the roses wither,
On the day I feel dead,
The day I see betrayal;
The day I see red.
I crumble in their palms
As the sand they sweep,
But my soul still wanders
And for vengeance it weeps.

When the roses wither,
And I see a monster in the mirror,
I’ll know it was them,
They’ll haunt me forever.
I will wait to witness the guilt on their face
When they see that the poison
Was all along, in the vase.