She was the princess, always waving and smiling to the people.

Beautiful as always.

Yet never to be touched, never to be kept.

Her touch is as sharp as a thorn.

Battles were caused because of her.

Rose petals fall beneath her,

Just like her.

She wilts away when no one watches.

Just a pretty fragile flower with thorns in her sides.

No one sees the way that she cries.

(Wrote this at 3 am when I have something important to attend too later. Rippp.)