Believe what you like,

They still grow thorns;

Roses aren’t perfect

And these have been torn,

Pulled apart by wind

And naked folly…

Believe what you will –

Roses are deadly.

Don’t say I haven’t warned you,

The roses, too, can scream;

Believe what you desire;

But don’t bend what I mean.

I’ve been mistaken before…

But this time I know.

Don’t call them perfect;

They’ll bleed you oh, so slow

Red as the sun

And white as the moon

Petals look like artwork

But still fall too soon.

Black brier-workings

Will attack your heart

Rip your flesh

And tear you apart.

I can promise you

No one will hear your cries

No one will aid you

It’ll just be you, the roses, and I.

…

Believe what you want,

Roses can feel our screams

And you’ll be alone

With just the roses and me.