A beautiful, yet insane mind you had,
To me my rose, you never would revel.
The wind would blow, but you were mad,
You would show your thorns and hide your petals.
Someone tried to yank you from your strong roots,
But your fierce thorns had gotten in the way,
The person’s hand had bled, while you would hoot,
Why would something as beautiful as you enjoy others pain?
Oh, but one winter, you died and withered!
No blood was shed, only a heart and soul.
I embraced you, but you struck a blizzard,
I bled, you laughed, screamed, “Peasant!” with control,
I loved you so, but you couldn’t love anyone,
I grabbed a knife and stabbed myself, you won.