You'll Never Know

Its almost midnight and I can smell the moonlight.
Or is it the roses?
Just bloomed.
They serenade my window, cradle it with thorn laced arms.

And they smell the way angels want to smell.

Can you pass me a glass of water?
My lips are a little dry.
The taste of my pain fills them.
I thrust a thorn in to my palm.

It feels better. The blood doesn't drip like it should.
It crawls as slow as if I have slept
The sleep my roses sleep all winter.

A slow slumber. Cold inside.

And my waist seems no different.
Your cold
Abuse
Has left no mark.

Me and my roses will keep my secret.
Or is it my roses and I?
I don't care.
I whisper to them, what I do not dare tell you.

She's yours as well, but she's mine.
I'm in bud.
I should blossom and swell, and grow as sweet as the midnight air around me.

But its not to be.
Its my choice.
And you'll never know.

Its between my roses and I