Saturday, July 23, 2011


The roses were red.
Now they are black.
It sits there and withers away.
Because me and you ended that day.
This could tell many stories.
Like how it sat on my wrist.
And how at the end, my hand would be in a fist.
Now, it sits there as my first corsage,
but relax, there will be more to come.
Just like how you were my first love.
But not my last.