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.