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sigh.....Tomorrow's the day. Tomorrow's the day I will be....thirteen. I'm gonna make a depressing poem now.

The roses are red,
like the blood on my fingers,
their thorns are so sharp,
like the knife in my hands.

Their wilting petals,
remind me of you,
their sad little faces,
match that of yours.

Their silent whispers,
speak not but my name,
yet they still ask me why,
Why I still play this game.

I try to ignore them,
but they haunt me like you,
like your eyes, like your face,
like your unsettled soul.

It's driving me crazy,
the voices, the pain.
The pain of you leaving,
from this world I remain.

So now here I stand,
me and your roses,
where you always will lay,
with me not beside you

I talk to the roses, and they whisper back,
they tell me about, the sin I have made,
And all I can think, are thoughts of regret,
for destroying your life, thus this saddness I get.

The roses are red, the roses are red...
like the blood on my fingers, dripping out from my head...
their thorns are so sharp, their thorns are so sharp...
like the knife in my hand and the stone in my skull...


WOW!!! I do NOT know where that came from, SERIOUSLY! That is probably the worse piece of poetry I have ever written! Also, just for those who think this poem is about me, let me reassure you it's NOT related to me at all. Besides the ownership of it of course. I sort of started with a piece I made a long time ago then improvised. I sorta' thought of a story now!!! It's about a girl who killed her fiance' for some reason. The she was murdered right before she was gonna commit...SEPUKU. She was going crazy anyway tho, so she would have ended up dead anyway. Oh, and the roses are the roses she took from her fiance's grave because she wanted something of his. ^___^ No hard feelings!

Anyway, I have to go to bed now. G'nite!