Roses are red, voilets are blue
blood is red, when I bleed my body turns blue.
When I cut and slice my skin,
magically, a red flow will begin.
Upon my face there lies a smile,
I look so sweet, I look so vile.
The room starts to spin,
and the dark starts to win.
There will be no waking for me as I lay on the floor,
the one who finds me will be overwhelmed with gore.
Finally, everybody knows and
on my casket lies a large black rose.
Horrified by this terrible deed,
somebody realizes what it is that I did need.
Too bad, it was not figured out before, but its too late.
You can't save me anymore.
Amber Zitzloff
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/roses-are-red-14/
