Even if Mother Nature poured down her tears,
Rot will still cascade over the roses I gave you,
as the deep crimson slowly bleeds away.
I remember the petals of the last,
Laying in the palms of my hand,
Thinking one rose couldn't hurt.
It didn't take you long,
Until you came back with it,
You placed it back into my hands.
And the ashes of the mahogany petals crumbled between my fingers,
But you promised you'd water it this time,
So I gave you another,
But this one grew thorns,
And when you returned with it,
They punctured into my bruised skin,
As the thorns spat their venom into my veins.
You asked for another,
Promised water, soil and sunshine.
But that was the last rose.
