The Trouble With Roses

Fresh or flase, somehow they fail to fulfill the promise of their beauty forever The petals peel into pretty bloom revealing red, romance Symmetry Then upon closer inspection, nearly invisible insects that invade the heart of its sweet smell And upon firmer grasp, the defenses that failed it to begin with once you'd gotten hold and now your hand hurts-- shoulda known better But the appeal of the undying perfection of Silk- save disaster, will never fade Always bright, ever polite never alive The plastic could not pierce the callous on my fingertips The odorless fabric could not even turn my stomach For the memory of the moment it lived and the fragrance of its oil, still soiling the potpourri I'd rather bleed or vomit