Theres a rose that grows in the cemetery,
a white rose,
you think such a beautiful thing shoulnt be there,
but as you try to pick it,
your finger brushes one of the razor like thorns,
as you pull back your wound,
you see the flower wither and fade,
and your finger isnt bleeding..
..the rose is..
its blood is clear and transparent,
as if they were tears..
then you realise that the rose isnt bleeding..
..its crying..
crying because it hurt you,
it didnt mean to harm such a loving soul,
its just its nature,
it cant change what it is,
and as you struggle to move the flower it continues to fade,
and before youre able to move it,
its dead in your hands,
leaving nothing but its tears behind...
 
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