A fragile blood rich body,
balanced upon a protective slender stem.
Petals that surpress secrets far within,
A tender bud far from blooming,
that is perched upon my window sill.
In months to come its secrets are
exposed.
Opening, it reveals its death.
Once beautiful, turned crisp and brown,
rotting away within itself.
All the lies released into the cold winter's
air.
Limp and hanging from its crystal vase,
the underneath visible.
What was beautiful is now foul.
Why would you give a loved one a rose?
I would not.