Roses on your grave..
You bang your head against the wall until you bleed, and even then, when your blood is screaming at you to stop, you keep going. You fall to the ground and lie there exhausted and slip away. Only when you are close to death do you ask for help.
The color red turns grey.
You pack your bags and head to the next wall. Expecting to break it down, you don't change and faint once more. Your blood begs your wounds to heal, to see the repetition. You knew though that it would just be the same. The true definition of insanity.
Cold from downpour crimson rain.
The scene is that I am crying silently without tears, looking through a glass wall at you, helpless.
I bang my fists and head to break through to save you, but all I do now is bleed.
You must always nail yourself to the cross you carry and bear.
I fall down, sob and pray.

There was nobody there, there was no glass. Nobody could hear.
I never knew it was me.
Nothing but a mirror, a mirror...
I was putting roses on my grave.