I woke up one morning with the thought to pick a rose
A rose with its pretty shades and thorny stems
As I reached out to the flower garden,
I wasn't thinking about the thorns just the pretty petals
I wrapped my hand around the flower and cried as I drew back in pain
My hand was streaked with blood from the rose thorns
Angered, I lashed out on the rose bush
I gathered a lighter and burned my pretty roses,
laughing as the yellow flames mix with red petals
I go into the house and think nothing else of it
The next morning I open my eyes and go outside,
expecting to be greeted by my flower garden
Then I begin to cry when I see the ashes of my roses
Saddened, I walk back inside and think
Remembering the pretty flowers and how they're now gone
Then I remember my lone rose from the day before
I lift the flower to my face and pick the petals one by one,
watching as they fall slowly to my feet