White Rose

The bloodstained rose sang softly with a weep

Of the love and deceit that I cherish so deep.

For the ones so dull that called her a freak.

For she took out her wrists and slit them hard

And cried as she was morbidly scarred.

Now she lays on the floor half asleep

And lets the blood sink and seep

Into the garden and by the rose

So white and innocent, rebirthed without woes.