12 BlAcK rOsEs

A dozen black roses can never explain,
How my love has turned to pain.
My heart once beat so red and fast,
But now it's dead and black as ash.
Each black rose has it's own unique meaning,
One for the hurt, One for the beating.
One for how my heart is bleeding.
One for how love turned to dust,
One for how your smile held lust.
One for how it use to be,
When all the pictures showed just you and me,
When every time I use to smile,
Up until a little while.
One for how you let my heart be crucified,
How you just stood there and watched it die.
One for all the times we shared,
One for the times when you weren't
there.
One for every thought of you,
One for how I never knew.
One for how you walked away
I hope you regret it everyday.
So here's my bouquet of flowers
I am handing to you.
He loves me not, his love is true.
Pluck the petals, watch them fall.
While I Reminisce about what I saw,
Laying in the bathtub, water running red,
Your words still echo in my head.
It wasn't, "I love you,"
It wasn't, "I'll stay,"
It was, "I've found someone, and I'm going away."
So take these black roses
And spread them around,
As they lower my coffin into the ground.
Don't forget to remember their meanings
And remember why my heart stop beating.

TC©