My Rose

With the words of a rose i speak to you. So beautiful the petals yet so thorny the stem. Do my words phase you, i ask. Wanting to know whether I still mean a thing to you. Does your heart bleed when the thorns cut it or do the thorns crumble at the meaningless exterior? Does your soul light up with the beauty of the rose that my words are, or is there no soul to light? I hold this rose by the thorns in my throat, willing you to care and let it phase you. Why do you not see the pain it causes me to find myself at the door to a false life? Why do you not care? I give this rose to you with all the love and all the hate i generate, with all the passion i once had and all the shame i now bare. I give this rose to you to cut you as it does me, to feed you its scent as it never did me, to bring you a bliss that will remind you of me. My words are this rose, treat them well as they shall never die but the thorns will cut deeper should you choose to ignore.