There were two friends and one was Life.

The other, me, a lonely soul.

“We can be friends, without a strife,”

He told me so, then lost control,

When Innocence, his master, died.

So cruel the man that stomps the rose

Extinguishing the naïve bride

And all that’s left—a juxtapose.

Now blemished, Life he does misguide.

No longer friends, I am disposed.

Life loves you not when you’re a whore

To love unloved ‘til suicide.

Alone, she waits to decompose.

And Life, with Innocence, watch and ignore.