A path laid out for us
Adorned with dying roses
Too long have they spent waiting
Waiting for an event that will never happen
And as they cling on to the last bit of life,
They stammer.
"Who are you?"
And my head turns to you in fear
Dread is born within my veins
The roses keep whispering to you
"Who are you?"
So who are you, my dear?
What is the true creature that I love?
You turn away, afraid.
Red raindrops begin to fall on my head
I scream, still holding your hand
The roses, emerged as one
Now impede the darkened sky
And with one voice, they demand
"Who are you?"

The inevitable happens.

You drop my hand
And turn from the path
The roses watch with satisfaction
Glad to see me standing alone
But I yell and cry
Because whatever you truly are;
Whatever you shall become
I will still love you.
But these words mean nothing, and the roses-
Grab my weakened body
And throw me on the path I walk alone.

The inevitable has happened.