White Roses

He liked to get deep, real

deep. Deep into my soul, to the point of no return. I told him to stop, but he just went harder. It felt good though. I knew it wouldn't last forever, it would eventually die just like those white roses sitting on my counter. They were rotting just like we were. Falling apart petal by petal. Brittle and dry, that's what we were becoming. No more deep soul trips, just tears and angst. I walked away and threw those white roses in the trash. I hated rises anyway, I'm more of a tulip woman.