For your first date he bought you white roses,

Cause to him you were like a rose

So peaceful

But from the inside,

Stemmed a thorny personality.

Your wedding day was decked with pink roses.

It matched the excitement on your face.

Happiness was all you knew.

Your life was only beginning.

The first time he cut you,

He bought you red roses.

They matched the bloody clothes

And the bruised lips.

You told yourself it was love,

That you would bloom again

But each time you did,

He chopped off your petals.

Unrecognisable, bruised and silenced you were,

But you always had beautiful roses.

You appreciated each bunch.

You thought it was love,

But eventually roses wilt and die.

He watered you with threats,

Fertilized you with insecurities,

Until you grew thorns.

The beauty had faded.

Your roots were removed,

For you no longer served your purpose.

White, pink and red roses decked your casket.

Just like them,

A short life you had lived.