Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
There came time,
When she had no clue.
Until the roses were dead,
The violets no longer,
The pain and sadness,
Forced the numbness stronger.
The roses dripped red,
And the violets did too,
The blade on her wrist,
Letting the blood through.
Her friends gave new roses,
And violets too,
Forcing her to stop,
And start life anew.
For a time the roses stayed vibrant,
And the violets stayed blue,
And continued her life,
And kept her promise true.
Then she stopped tending the roses,
Leaving the violets to wilt,
Relapsing back into,
Depression and guilt.
Now there aren't any roses,
Nor any violets,
She felt irrational anger,
And her life turned to violence.
Since there weren't any roses,
Or violets for the matter,
It so seemed,
That everyone still thought she was better.
