You're the flower whose beauty makes me write

I should've left you to be, but instead I cut you from the stem,

And I regret it every night

I see you in every Rose,

See the beauty of your thorns

We would've never lasted, I know

And I can't say I wasn't warned

Quite the hypocrite

Oh, how the tables have turned, Darling

I think it's quite ironic,

That I'm the one who says "Sorry"

Do you remember those days?

Our love a mess I didn't think needed to be fixed

You've healed, and moved on;

Now I'm the one who's sick

To hear you say, "I love you,"

Oh what I wouldn't give

Only now after life has ended,

Do I know what it means to live