I am a rose with inner thorns.
Only hurting myself; surface torn.
Crimson water that leaks from my leaves.
A flinch of pain to bring me to my knees.
And as the living stare at my helpless state,
I can only presume they know my fate.
I drift with the wind, seeking the rhythm,
That'll lead me to inner peace and lead me to freedom.
I was a rose with inner thorns,
Who set them free and begged "forbore".
I crumpled into dust; my ashes left,
As I slowly decay into blissful death.
