Roses In the Grave

Roses in the grave blossomed in no sunlight's glare. Surprised it survived- timeless. Roses in the grave small dark thorns spiked the dead. Worthless effort leads no changes. With a dead face you stocked yourself to feel attached; took your guesses- short-sighted assumptions, but I assure you that none was correct. My world within four walls elude you forever. Promises well-kept, you can never tell. Your doubt worth's no penny. A little 'hi' amiable on the face, with an uninviting grin hidden with a dagger behind the cameras- I applaud your sold-out shows. Hearing the narration of contradictory, of roses, blood red, blooming in the grave, I wonder what gave you a pointer to say what you just mentioned. Did you not hear yourself speak?