Poetry

Roses.

She always wore red.
She looked like an evil seductress.
She didn't care much for that though.
She just always had blood on her hands.
You can catch her sometimes lying naked in the shower with blood pouring from her wrists.
She was one of the most beautiful people I have ever met.
I don't mean just looks I mean her soul.
Her soul bled to much though.
I should have said something about the things I seen.
Found her in a tub drowning in her own blood.
She always wore red, even dead.
I went to her funeral and I swear every rose was dripping in blood.
Living on in every deadly creation.
I don't plant roses anymore.
I couldn't get the blood off my hands.
Burn the flowers and hope to live.