He gave me his rose
kissed with dew droplets
that were overflowed
with his feelings tainted...

I blindly grabbed the stem
delicate, and thin
thinking to myself..
that I wanted to be with him

my hand cupped the rose
then pressed against the thorn
and along with my heart
my skin was torn

the rose matching the blood red
that fell to the ground
the rose tumbled with it
with absolutely no sound

as it left my palm
it turned dark and dry
the beauty now gone
as it lay to die

when self inflicted
pain is not pain
when the razor touches my skin
and strikes my vein

but when unexpected
your heart is viciously exposed
to the unbarable anguish and heartache
caused by your rose

~*~*Danielle Siqueiros October 9, 2005*~*~