Roses are thorns

botanical beauty; bought for the loved,

lovers, a boy and a girl.

simply exchanging glances, perhaps kisses:

but if hearts- they'd be plucked out and torn apart.

aroma: fragrant, so gentle but deathly

just like a soldier who prays for compassion

and redemption; bravery or stupidity?

either way he is lost in the soil of warfare.

just a 'flower', isn't it?

found in your nearest supermarket, on sale

$2 for a bouquet that is supposed to symbolise love.

it's value- worth it. because our love shall wither away.

they lie around here, somewhere- rotting and dying like our love:

because when i touched them, broken promises

poison me, stung me.

because roses are grown to be plucked.

roses are thorns- just like we were.

from far away- tender petals of innocent love

grown in pure soil. but it's roots were knives

in fact swords, that tore our love apart.