Straight, long green stem,
Bursts into a flower at the very top.
I hold on to the stem,
Being careful of the thorns.
Standing outside in the cold air,
Frozen tears running down my cheeks.
The thorn pricks my finger,
Just as his words did to my heart.
And my finger, my heart, they cry as I have.
I feel lost in this crazy world.
And I stand, in the cold,
And let the sadness, the anger,
Pull me into the darkness.