The Roses are red,
'Cept they are blue,
Though no one can see,
Not even you,
The Roses are hurting,
The Thorns are to blame,
Spiteful and biting,
Their words burn like flame,
The Roses are bloody,
The Thorns are to blame,
Cutting and spilling,
The true price of fame,
The Roses are wilting,
Pressured into pain,
Regret of poor choices,
What was there to gain?
The Roses are dying,
The Thorns turn away,
They know what they've done,
Turned beauty to decay,
The Roses are Red,
And that's all you see,
But red truly is,
The last thing they'll be
YOU ARE READING
The Roses Are Red
PoetryRoses are red, Violets are blue, Here's a depressing, Poem for you.
