Take this piece of me, hold on tight.
It may get broken if not handled right.
It's the biggest part of me sent with a rose.
So take your blade and cut it close.
I feel the pain with every snip.
Careful with my heart, the petals will rip.
With every piece left on the table,
All my problems I will label.
And if each stem wound up dead,
I'll glue them back together with each drop of red.
The only thing I have is my heart and my mind,
While you have your hands and a knife of some kind.
So cut all you want. I thought you were real.
I have all these feelings, but why can't I feel?
You look at these roses and think "Nice Art".
But I'm just glad it wasn't my heart.

 
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