Rose At My Side

It was like
A thorny rose
Grew out from my side

It was painful
Very excruciating
And yet beautiful

Of course, there were blood
Buckets and gallons of blood
But there's the sweet scent

When the pain receptors were gone
I was asked to cut it
I know it'll be painful

I haven't thought
Whether I'd die or not
But I don't care.

Better be with the rose
And wither with it
Than die of longing