He'd always said that you were like a rose.

He first told you that, on the day you met.
You thought he meant the purple one,
bringing awe and wonder into his life.
A change for the better, finely spun.

The day he touched you for the first time,
you pictured yourself as the red.
Fervent, fierce and alluring, as you
coloured him with love and fed.

Then came the day you got married,
you could be nothing but white at heart.
Promising him your integrity and purity,
as you took your vows— 'til death do us apart.

And when you bore his first child,
even your skin was coloured pink.
Radiating joy and admiration,
for a ship that would never sink.

Until it did.

The day he took his own life,
you realised it was never the petals that he talked about.
It was the ugly thorns.
The woes you caused to befell him, till he'd lost count.