What forces me to pick the rose that makes me bleed?

The beauty that masks the pain that I need,

And droplets of blood that ache from my fingers,

Along the stem and still it lingers,

Down to my hand stained with this passion,

And I can't let go; I need this emotion,

But you don't love me, two-faced rose,

You're just here to hurt me and let me know,

That it's me that's the problem, who can't say, "no",

And I love you too much to ever let go,

So two-faced rose, my beautiful pain,

This beating heart is yours to stain.