Black roses...

12 roses blossom to die so someone can smile from within. One must allow old self to be forgotten to exist in luv’s moment to grin. Dying at the end of luv as petals fall like thoughts in the mind. It's always the demise of something beautiful for a new to begin. Snipped from the life to leave the root once sprouted as if they wanna claim the win. Once another witnesses the sensation of life's deteriorating agony that slowly over rides the pulse. Fading from the nutritional value that once flowed prior to all the talk. One rose, one luv. One moment, one rotting trust. Ashes to dust, like memories lost to the existence of vibrant peace. Plucked in an in particular type of way fingers tug to let loose of the process no longer in need. Thrown away. Discarded for a fresh symbolism to revive the smile meeting the day. From red to black. Removing the thorns that protect the core wanting to remain intact. Death to the feel is the use of the cycle once time takes it turn to revolve. As another will crate the same awe that the prior has in the sake to evolve...