Dancing upon the Roses.

She's dancing barefoot on a bed of roses, smelling sweet in the evening rain.
The thorns deeply embedded in her soles now soaked with crimson pain.
Their stems snapped like fragile spines as they fell from grace.
She water's them with the sweet, warm tears now flowing down her face.
Severed pettils dance with the wind around her pretty little head.
The green fingers of the man who grew them now grey, cold and dead.
A symbolic massacre of both love
and it's evil twin romance.
With a heart full of stagnant passion all she can do is dance.