Roses Of February

Red Roses. Their silk pedals press against my cheek as I lay in a field of them The smell intoxicates my mood Their bloodshot red pedals turn sorrowful blue As each pedal I pluck crumbles to ash I become the girl whose heart has suffered a gash Open wounded, staining the blue roses with the stench of red I lay before the grey sunset in a bluesy bed Blue pedals sizzle to black dust As I hold onto the blue rose, my heart hushed A willow weeps into the palm of my hand Drenched, I silently lay Holding onto the blue rose, I smell its drooping pedals Then with a sniffle I kiss the rose as I lay it beside me My want preserve its beauty The conscience to pluck it bare All I can hear is my painful heart Crying for the answer that will bring us out the dark Soaked ash rustles against my ears As my brown eyes silently cry to tears Blue Roses. Ash.