A group of roses
Showing off their beauty,
Pluck one out
And it reveals its true identity.

The single rose in hand,
It is out for vengence.
In the path revenge,
It loses it effulgence.

Determined to destroy,
With thorns sharp and no doubt.
With a scream of pain,
Blood pours out.

As red as the rose itself,
Blood drips fulfilling its purpose.
Don’t be decieved,
Beauty can monstrous.