Your Rose

Love drawn from hate, Hate drawn from love. It's all a viscious cycle, Swirling you above. The sight of that "rose", So lovely and pure, Was more like a cactus, Look closer to be sure. More pricks then you can realize, Former skin than you can know. Even the water underneath, Is to little to even show. The flower set on top, The glory of it's petals, Hide the spines beneath, That wait for those who medal. Pick it if you wish, Look for water in it's stem, But all you'll find is pain, Over and over again. Soon you'll see and find, When you look down at your hands, The sores and pricks that rest there, Arn't worth all his demands. When that day comes, And you see what he has done, It will all come to a choice, You can love or you can run. You can love the water, Which you've never seen, Or you can hate the skin, For all the scars that it will leave.