The Rose

Torn and tattered between the pages it lies and beckons for me to see the worst meant for others eyes old and wilted are the leaves and petals now i dont really want to read but it forces me somehow dry and brittle it breaks apart in my hand as i take it from the page and obey it on command fresh and dewey as i see it through my tears seems to be a symbol of my childhood fears crushed and broken as it through my hand it crumbled it was an accident as in my years i stumbled dark and dreary were the words i just read upon that terrible page that wont leave my head.