The Flower
We all begin as white roses
All that's known is happiness and innocence
No pain or hurt is present
But we are turned to flowers red as blood
Weighted down with numbness and pain
We can never go back to a white rose
We are forever more red roses stained
Our hearts wish to feel alive but there is nothing there
It seems as if the world is covered with white roses
And here I am red as scarlet
Never getting redder but never getting whiter
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