I planet a bed of roses,
Next to where she lay.
She liked it,
Say she did not in so many words.
Dreams of speculation,
Ran through the coagulated thought.
Thick as the mud,
Sticky as the blood.
She liked it,
Of that I am sure.
Pierced was her lungs,
Through my needle sharp nail driver.
Laid to rest,
Next to the bed of roses.
This was written as a part of the contest. Do check it out
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