My Rose

A rose completely turned from truth
unseen by clarity and decision,
blood drawn from its bruised stem
where it has been slashed and gashed wide open
with gentle pain and allowed acceptance,
life is drained from its core
it left its leaves and petals to wilt,
thorns twist in
pining after what kills inside
struggling to live only when
a web of eyes blocks out the light,
ripped from is roots
to grant others wishes,
thoughts upon thoughts, unheard
water droplets as clear and as fragile as crystal
slowly slide off the petals soft skin
and shatter on the cement,
no longer a flower, no longer alive
no longer real, but stuck in its reality
it must live.