Rose

I woke up, a pale rose
Vivid in my mind as I went
To tell everyone I know that
I still have it's honey scent

The dream refused to part with me
To stop seducing with pain
But all dreams must go
Even if they aren't exactly so

I told people about the rose
Which haunted me so
The sweet smell mixed with
Sulphur and sweat

They kneeled, and I pulled them up
The dream getting fuzzier
I smelled only rust
When they told me of the roses next day

We fought,
For roses, for the smell, for the pain
The sweet smell replaced by rust and wood
Clinging on, despite itself

We won,
Everyone talked about the rose garden
How they would plant their rose there
Their white, pink, yellow roses

They had no rose
My rose, the rose was
Red as the blood it drawed out
Smelling of gunpowder and corpses

I fought, I killed, I betrayed
For my rose, beautiful with immense thorns
Smelling of laughter cut short by death
And red as raw meat

There is one rose, my rose, the rose
With thorned and barbed petals, red as dried blood
Smelling of agony, desperation and screams
Wilting