Roses became sick with sadness at the touch of my fingers
They withered away the moment I let go
Love couldn't save them now
Love is dead, unkind, heart wrenching
The darkness behind the beauty of a rose is never talked about
Roses have thorns, thorns that pierce right through your heart
Crimson blood pours out just like the vows once spoken
I love you, I adore you, I am fond of you
All spoken with sincerity
But it no longer matters
Love is doomed, love brings heartache and pang
"I love you" I utter one last time
But the roses have now gone
Our love is doomed
Our love is dead
YOU ARE READING
Blame it on The Wind
PoetryI send messages with the utmost sincerity and receive hate and resentment in return, I blame it on the wind.
