Dec 2013
This is the most I can remember of a poem I flushed down the toilet.
Our love is a rose
Every day
For the past few weeks
Our love has been a rose
Deep red with thorns and
Painful to hold onto
Our love is a rose
The greatest flower
It bloomed so beautifully
Except we're bleeding
Holding onto the thorns
Our love is a rose
It's been a wonderful gift
But we cut our tongues
Our mouths bleed agony
The pain of words I can't take back
Our love is a rose
Every day
For the past few weeks
Our love has been a rose
Deep red with thorns and
Painful to hold onto
Our love is a rose
The greatest flower
It bloomed so beautifully
Except we're bleeding
Holding onto the thorns
Our love is a rose
It's been a wonderful gift
But we cut our tongues
Our mouths bleed agony
The pain of words I can't take back
This is the most I can remember of the poem I physically flushed down the toilet on the night your mother broke us up. This was the gift I told you about giving you, when I took you home from band, the afternoon I pleaded to talk to you. I held onto you for dear life in my car that day, as you cried in such awful agony.
