roses

I clutch a batch of roses in my hand, given to me by a blurry face, one whose name i cannot recall, i know theyve hurt me, and im forever stuck with them, and the stupid roses that wont die. the thorns prick my hands, my hands drip blood, i couldnt un-clutch the roses, the pain was sharp, like a needle i could feel it course through my veins, and the tears welling in my eyes like a child would after dropping a toy but why would i cry over something i was letting hurt me? pathetic old me, the roses sat clutched in my hands tightly. i took a deep breath, and my hands unclutched, as the thorns slowly came out of my skin i sighed out of relief, the tears still pricking my eyes, and now i could see blood coming from the holes the thorns had poked. it would take forever to heal from this.