O Rose.
Beneath the beauty of your crimson petals
Hides a sharp thorn, a viscious weapon.
I have been flanned to within a glace cherry of my life
Emotionally cruel without whipped cream to soften the impact.
You have hosed me with scolding water
A jetwash without lather.
I have laid bleeding before your metal leviathon
Crushed by the cold steel of its tracks.
I have been plucked and laid bare by the pheasant plucker
Not the pheasant plucker's mate!
I am now turning slowly
Sizzling on a spit and stamped honeyroast.
But what is the cruellest twist of the knife
Is the bloody aweful rhyme what you wrote.
Now, that finished me off!