Petals.

A Rose Ago.

Counting the fallen petals,
as you drop them on the floor.
One to two, two to four,
these aren't petals no more.

A rose, a rose,
more crimson than blood,
echoes the silence,
screams about the pain,
is this love or pain that is everlasting?

Deep breaths choke me more,
dead on the floor,
still they steal the air from me.

Eyes weary.
A rose ago.
Now closed forevermore.
Do you even care?