The blood on the mattress still remains,
you couldn’t clean the stain I guess
Are you really happy the way you feign
when you bury the past and try afresh
So you put on a new bed sheet decked up with roses but beneath lies the same old thorns
like the stain and so does your wounds
wrapped with smile but inside havoc and wrecked
and that smile not raw but pretentious, it adorns
your beautiful face but the scars,
they lie in the grave of your eyes , veiled ,untouched they haunt you and yet invisible to others
for has there ever been a man on this land,
who has loved the roses with its thorns.