The rose, so pretty,
she strikes a pose, as if she’s ready,
to smile in another file.

Her hands still shake,
on your commands, her breath you take,
as you wrap, your arm, builds a trap.

Your lips touch skin,
hands the hips, let the play begin,
take of the skirt, that’s your flirt.

A tear she cries,
let you hear her denies,
yet on you go further below.

A scream like a bark,
break the dream in the dark,
as you leave her ******, go talk to your buddy.

She is mute in words,
like the cute where it hurts,
when you look, like you want to hook.

Her breath you took,
Her death is a book.
The blood on your hands,
Let her rot where she stands.