Blood stained Rose

Dipped in blood

The roses are red

Stained with my life

Or she’ll chop off my head.

Cut myself with a knife

And watch the blood slowly drip

Onto the petals of a rose

Through my fingertip

Black was what originally we chose

To match the darkness of her heart

Some were white

To try and break the darkness apart

Now the roses are red to match her appetite

But the colours beginning to crack

We bleed ourselves dry to help with the show

Underneath still, they are black.

© Rowanne S Carberry 06/05/16