She is no longer one of your roses
caught between thorns of deception
your reconstructed crown a prison of self destruction

Flowers do not bloom amongst the weeds
ornate as they are
people are not meant to be jewelry

Your love is an emaciated tiger
ravenous and eager for consumption
obliterating all sense of the past

Are you home beneath the throne
you've learned to emulate decay
sickness in your skin

Crush the bloom between your fist
shadow devour emaciated guest
wither in the rain, she will not be yours again