Laments of a Rose

Her skin is porcelain,

Her hair flawless gold.

Her complexion- perfect.

But she's still not sold.

Vain vampiress,

To the roses she confides.

A Rose herself,

She is crying inside.

No family, no children,

Perfection too perfect.

Every rose has it's thorns,

Hers are those her mind reflects.

She can't die, she can't eat,

Can't bask in the sun.

Can't dream- can't sleep.

No quiet when the day is done.

No lasting friends,

They move every few years.

No slipping by without notice,

No human fears.

Rosalie is unmistakable.

She laments and keeps her mind cold.

Her unbeating heart is breaking,

Behind her curtain of gold.