In the field full of flowers,
Only one you must choose.
Depending on the one you pick,
Determine how you live life and go by its rules.
Dandelions, violets peonies and daisies,
And ***** poppies which make you go crazy.
Flowers of every kind lined up in a row,
But would anyone dare to choose the lovely rose?
Its beauty is splendid, the petals unique,
But it’s also full of thorns, so most do not keep.
But I’ll pick the rose, from the flower bed,
I’ll hold it in my hand, even as my blood drips, red.
Beauty through pain, isn’t it all what they say?
Pain for the pleasure, I guess that’s my way.
The thorns pierce my skin, with the flower in my palm.
Alas I won’t care,
I’ll be caught in the roses sweet song.
I’ll carry my rose for others to see,
I’ll suffer in silence, no one to hear my pleas.
A sacrifice must be made for the greater good,
So I had to pick the rose because no one would.
The scarlet drops run down my arm leaving a ****** trail,
I hope someone would follow and my pain won’t prevail.
Perhaps I have held the rose for so long,
That I no longer feel a thing.
I can only hope when I set this rose down,
Someone won’t pick it up and start the suffering.