Wilting Rose

She breaks herself against his stones. She's alone before she goes. His thorns overgrow on the pretty rose. His love now become her foe. Once dancing in the dark now bland in the light. The rose needs to go and just might. But when the rose was almost picked that night. The hand was pricked against the thorns real tight. But when the rose didn't have the thorns she was vulnerable. Without the thorns she was unable. She broke herself against his stones. She's alone and cannot go. She kicks other rocks and guards his stones. He picks of her petals until there aren't any. The rose wilts as his stones are thrown. The thorns' tears and grief run steady.