White Rose
Red.
There’s red everywhere.
On the floor.
On the walls.
In my hair.
On my lips.
On the furniture.
The entire mansion coated in the wonderful color.
I stare down at my pale hands,
red nails tip the slender fingers.
My red sundress flows out on the ground beneath me,
as I kneel on my redwood floors.
I look up.
There’s one thing out of place.
A single white rose sitting in a vase.
Every time I see it I think of you.
It has been frozen in time,
never shriveling,
never wilting,
just like my love for you.
Spinning around I see:
Red.
Red.
Red.
Red.
And again, that simple splash of white.
That beautiful splash of white.
A pristine white rose.
