I love white roses.
They are blank pages,
Filled with words
Of invisible honesty,
But I paint them red.
I cover them up
With lies. –
Lies of the things
Only of what
Other people will.
I love white roses,
But mine are dripping
Red with the paint
Of lies that cover
A multitude of sins
A multitude of scars
A multitude of
Mistakes.
I love white roses.
They are honest.
They are perfectly
Imperfect.
They show everything.
I love white roses.