Red petals on the ground.

Pointy thorns all around.

The rose’s beauty is pain when held—

Held to the point of pain.

The rose just wants to be loved.

But every time someone holds it,

They get hurt.

And the rose always ends up lonely.

A splash of velvet red.

A weeping, dark crimson color.

Roses come in so many shades of red,

But never enough.

They hold so much beauty—

And so much pain.

All they ever wanted was to be held and cherished.

But all they got

Was to be thrown and stomped on,

Just for having a poky covering.