Nov 29 2011
Bleeding roses
I pricked my finger on your roses
And I bled a deep red
Like the color of the roses it dripped on
I hate their sweet smell of loneliness
And the dark green stem of thorns
That hurt me every time I touch them
Your roses resembled my loneliness
So sad and bittersweet
Like the way that you loved me
I always see the bleeding roses grow
Put in the garden some long time ago
When I try to touch them I always bleed red
Their lonliness sometimes makes me fell as though I am dead
(1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
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