If I lay here
watching the sun set,
feeling the safety of the dark
in a field of thorny roses,
maybe it will take the pain away.

My skin,
it has no color,
as pale as Luna.
You caused my blood to drain,
through my wrists,
through my legs.

Tears fade,
memories stay,
regret is awakened,
forgiveness is mistaken.

You are the thorns.
You are my murderer.