My rose

So you’d like me to beg for a touch, for a hug or embrace,

But I won’t, I would die first and then deny it.

I’ve got too many wounds and too many stitches to take care of your needs, but I’d like to, maybe.

I’m a superstar stepping out the stage, when she takes off the make up, trying to forget.

Don’t mention my needs, ’cause you don’t even know what to think about it.

Shake then, shake your body and go to hell, just for a month or two and send me the postcard baby, I’d appreciate it!

Sweet the thorns when you hold my rose, just hold it tight and you can keep the spines with you.