She isn't made out of roses.
She made out of red blood,
that pumps her heart alive.
Can you hear that?
That loud roar inside her chest,
she was never meant for vases,
that restricts her from life.
She always wanted to live life.
Free. She wanted to be free.
The vines of roses were always,
like the hands in her dreams
who had always held down.
She is not made out of roses.
she is made out of bones,
that, connect together like,
small puzzle pieces.
She had been trying to connect,
her hand to someone else,
like a puzzle piece connecting.
All she wanted is someone there.
She is not made out of roses.
She's made out of emotions.
Blooming in the night, she loved.
And when morning rises,
they are stuck as underdogs,
the ones people push around.
And they will stand there.
When night rolls by,
they are lovers
like the moon and the sun
Only meeting twice a day.
Her hand reaches for him.
Waiting to connect like puzzles.
She is not made out of roses..