Paradox of Life and Death

Once, I saw a white rose
I tried to cut it,
but it turned crimsom
and then everything that I touched 
turned crimsom too

I was delighted at my power
to make the world the deepest flame
The more I destroyed, the less sadness I felt-
the weaker my heart grew

The red became the orthodox
Yet the red never became monotone
for white buds materialized behind my back
I grew rabid at the sight
and lashed out red, lashed out red.

My heart eventually withered.
The last thing that I saw was white
Blossoming from within my chest.