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Painting the Roses Red
We're painting the roses red,
painting the roses red,
the red drips down to the ground,
We are painting the roses red.
We're painting the roses red,
painting the roses red,
the red pools down at my feet,
we are painting the roses red.
We're painting the roses red,
painting the roses red,
I slipped and fell I think I'm dead.
I'm painting
My roses
red.

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This poem talks about self harm.... As much as I would love to say that I am clean... I can't. I wrote this today and since I havent written in a long time I figured this would be the place to start.