Bloodiest Bloom

They say the rose is the flower of romance.

That its appearence can put you into a trance.

With good reason this fact is known.

From the devil's claw it has grown.

Do not wonder my thinking unrationalised.

Its beauty is fashioned for lover's eyes.

Enchanted by its angelical white hue.

Oh no, its redness never naturally grew.

A man, for his lover, will grasp at the stem.

The demonic claws pierce his greed though he does not feel them.

For he is too in love to notice the battle of his nerve endings.

Too mesmerised to see his life force with the petals blending.

The softness that it has poised is not surprising.

The man's DNA becomes its source of moisturising.

Not a drop will drip from any leaf.

His penetrated hand his beloved notices with grief.

Infection spreads like the roots of the artillery.

Entombing his heart ever so skillfully.

His sweetheart is distraught over his passing.

Anger breaks the waters of the sadness as waves crashing.

Snatching the bloom from his palm in desperation of its crushing.

Clouded mind distracted from the pain that is now rushing.

The realisation of the deed creates a trembling smile.

For they know they will join him in a short while.