violent roses.

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we used to have a lot of photos
and hid them in the case
as we pretended to be like roses 
to scrape each others face.

what we have been living for
if we haven't involved any special feeling?
but I remember your obtuse sword
I have never felt as much pain as I was squealing.

but anyway, sorry,  both we were wrong
about the love especial, of course.
I proud of myself: now I'm out of prong.
But where are you now?
praying for not working in bouse.