I told you I loved roses and you bought me dozens and dozens. When there wasn't enough room to make my surroundings beautiful you tried to make me beautiful. They are stuffed in my lungs and stomach and now that I'm scarred and bleeding all over because of the thorns you said you were sick of me destroying myself. Now I'm left alone trying to puke out what you've created inside of me and sometimes I'll pull the dead petals off of wilting flowers to see if you love me. I don't need a flower to know you sure as hell don't
