I don't care for the roses,
left on the table as doses,
of aroma and perfume,
to inhale when life is sick,
your aroma makes me sick.

I've been dying inside oh,
I've been trying to find,
comfort in the memories.
All I find is your face,
stitched into my flaws.

My heart screams inside,
I don't find the way to life,
think that you were mine,
but I was just too lost to see,
I let it burn into ashes.

It is true I will say today,
that grieve really takes time,
and I don't find the light,
because you were mine,
and it really hurts to say,
I wish you were here still.

Covered all in loneliness,
you were like the perfect rose,
but like my dreams you flew,
now I am mature enough,
to admit that I did this myself.

I couldn't fix it then and,
sometimes I wish I could've,
think about what would've,
been, but I don't really know,
it just helps sometimes to,
imagine what I'll never hold.

© dats_poetry