Every rose has its thorn.

Just a poem-of-sorts that I wrote on a whim.

"You're like a rose", he said. "Fragrant, blooming from the dirt, awesome in its beauty and endurance."
"But every rose has its thorns", I said. "If you overlook the thorn, you're bound to get hurt."
He smiled, a sickly sweet smile, and said, with a voice like honey, "If it's your thorn, then a prick or two is worthwhile.
I look into his amber eyes, and sternly reply. "This rose can only bloom in solitude; would you really let it wither, just so you could claim it as your own?"
Before he can even reply, I turn to leave. "Every rose has its thorn, my dear. I hope you find one as beautiful as it is deadly."

Author's Note

Just something that I wrote on a whim.
Please let me know if there is something that I can improve, what you liked, etc.