A blue rose is a terrible image.
No one wants to connect romance
With feeling blue, though they’d be smart to.
So you, who uses the rose so blue
To convey that you feel sadder than shit,
All because of thatsherface or dudeshisname,
And the way they looked at you, eyes
passing like the quickest of shooting stars,
Seeming to last only for a moment
But a moment that felt like the very last?
Do you think if moments like those actually grew
like roses, we would ever color them red?
Blue roses, blue roses, sprouting up dead.
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