Frankly, I find this
Quite atrocious
You leave me here
To rot in peace
Yet you send me flowers
In bunches of roses.

I look at you through
Rose-coloured glass
Expecting to find
A good soul behind
But who am I kidding?
You’re just a farce.

Despite my latest
And greatest conviction
You still wield a knife
You still turn the blade
Inside my life
A type of benediction?