Roses

Rows and rows of roses

Rotting roses composing in the compost

Disclosing a secret no one else knows

Each red rose shows love that grows and then slows

As thorns cut the woes of wounds weeping and bleeding red onto petals

Infesting bugs medle, ripping, shredding, ending life

The heart's chords strike with strife

Each string cut like each snipped flower

Given weakly and meekly to the prouder

Dead in head but not in heart

Petals may wilt but the bush is backyard

Trimmed with silver lining

Showing off the pretty red color

Real red, bloody red

Bloody red?

Like a shot to the heart, a spot gushing sorrow

And we all know the hole is beginning to hollow, so swallow your tears

And offer her another rose

Here goes, suppose

She crushed it on the sidewalk and squawked with laughter

Whatever, it doesn't matter, some say I'm an actor

because I'm great at hiding how I really feel

But what I really feel is pain

And the hope in my heart wilts

and it's as dead as the rose