White roses

16 2 2
                                    

White roses sleep in the garden of my melancholia,Frozen, the dusts of snow dropping down on the scene,So colourless and so pale, been like this since I was thirteen,Counting all the petals and every single folia

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

White roses sleep in the garden of my melancholia,
Frozen, the dusts of snow dropping down on the scene,
So colourless and so pale, been like this since I was thirteen,
Counting all the petals and every single folia.

The breeze flowing through my hair,
Freezes every strand of my soul,
The feeling's like silver, it's too cold,
No butterflies, no snakes, I've got nothing to spare,
Just white roses here and there.

The clock struck midnight but nothing disappeared,
'Come on Alice, you've got to paint the roses red',
So I cut myself to let the blood shed,
I have to do this, I know I've always feared.

I pine for all the red, the rues, the wine;
I dine with mad hatters, cheshire cats and Queens divine,
But they don't need to know I find joy in bringing the red to the roses,
I find pleasure in the lock that never opens just closes,
I don't cry when I feel pain, I just dispose it.

I like the way the blood is falling down my face,
Like ichor flows in a greek god's veins,
And when finally all the roses are red,
I can peacefully sleep in my bed,
When all my worries have swiftly fled,
And not one tear has been shed.

The Woes of Sarah Where stories live. Discover now