I was a rose in a rose bush,
He picked me,
Out of all those other beautiful roses,
Me.
I should have known it wasn't going to last.
Soon after you admire the rose you get old of it.
You find other roses.
He left me to wilt,
While his lips prey a smile,
But the smile wasn't towards me,
It was simply to another rose.
His,
Next victim.
