Roses are red, voilets are blue
blood is red, when I bleed my body turns blue.
When I cut and slice my skin,
magically, a red flow will begin.
Upon my face there lies a smile,
I look so sweet, I look so vile.
The room starts to spin,
and the dark starts to win.
There will be no waking for me as I lay on the floor,
the one who finds me will be overwhelmed with gore.
Finally, everybody knows and
on my casket lies a large black rose.
Horrified by this terrible deed,
somebody realizes what it is that I did need.
Too bad, it was not figured out before, but its too late.
You can't save me anymore.
I felt a tragic despair within your words, Amber. The resentment of the abandoned victim was also evident in this strong piece. I liked it. Keep smiling and keep writing, Robert
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love this poem very deep