**Red roses and bloody noses.**
Petals drift,
regrowing in your wounds.
It waits—clogging veins.
White roses blush red with your bright blood.

Your skin, porcelain pale,
drains under their hunger.
They won’t let you breathe or rest.

**Red roses and bloody noses.**
They die inside you,
around you.

You’ll die with them.

No more white roses blooming red,
no more blood like a waterfall.

Goodbye, garden.
I’m part of you now.