White Rose

I had a rose,
my rose was
as white as
an angels wings.

But do you know
what happened
to my white rose?

I was holding my white rose
in one hand,
and a knife in the other.

As I slit my wrist,
to deep,
my blood fell onto my white rose.

As I lay on the floor,
my white rose
in my hand.

My white rose is now streaked with red,
blood,
my blood.

My rose is no longer white,
it is stained,
laying in my dead hand.

That is what happened to my white rose.