The line in here is from a line from an OLD poem I wrote. The last stanza of the poem says,
All the open doors close, and I've cried my last cry. Love is like a rose, it always seems to die.
Of course, it was a break up poem lol. Not something I love anymore, though at the time I did. Anyway, I felt like writing on this rose and didn't know what to write.
this is a manipulation of a rose for the rose pack of