the roses

its like a continueation of the rose sonnet that i have...

the blood runs dont the side of the rose, as it withers into nothing. the gray withered petals become covered in the blood, they become red once again, but their beauty is never restored.

your eyes devoid of hope. a simple yet terrifying glaze comes over your eyes. its obvious the pain runs through your body, controling it. bringing only a faint smile to your face. your wrists dripping with blood. the white rose on the floor becomes slowly colored. its beauty doesn't compair to that of the red rose in the end.