Thanks for the flowers
I've never smelled roses before
I guess it's something about you that I adore
We continue to exchange secrets and permission to explore why we could seem to forget our past but remembered to close the door on the opportunities and tally up the score for the amount of times we threw each other's feelings on the floor
Or the number of times that we made love seem like some childish folklore
Thanks for the flowers
Are they suppose to mean sorry?
I'm I suppose to forgive the fact that you could never say sorry
With words
I know I'm no angel myself
But at least I came back when all you were to me was a drug
And in the end you still don't give a fuck
You still don't have the decency to leave a note with the roses that were partially dead
Right now I dread the moments when a new voicemail pops up telling me you want to come home
And I hope you read this poem while sit in the dark alone and realize that roses are mean't to show love and not for an excuse to apologize for all the eternal bruises I gained after I saw her kiss you
