-needs a Title. I Will Probably Think of One Later On.-
There is a single rose
kept high in the vase of her memories
she eyes thee rose with despair and sorrow
circles around and walks away.
The rose withers and petals fall
she comes back but has the same thought.
Picks up the withering rose, she starts to dance
circles around and around with the rose balanced in her palm.
-she stops-
she starts to cry and she sees streaks of blood fall from her palm
the thorns dig deep
her tears reach her collar
darkness falls, then drags her deep in it's depths.
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