Blood and roses

Blood and roses

Blood is oozing, thick red blood is oozing,
as if wanting to be let out of its blue veins,
my blood stained thumb with a white band aid
doesn’t succumb to its wounded pride,
Still stands erect, the culprit is the penknife,
While cutting the lady’s finger, yes!
the lady’s finger, red blood on my white nail,
I run to the garden to pluck my favourite red roses,
Red roses with the hidden thorns,
I stumble upon an uncared
for plastic rubble, the soft skin
Underneath my foot reddens,
Red blood is oozing, oozing,
I look up the red roses,
Those that smile with a message,
‘ beware of the thorns in us, the roses.’