Its like a rose, with many promises of good things. Beauty? I don't think so, but just something we can't do without, or we thought we can't do without. The second we grab it, we feel the thorns, penetrating the skin, piercing the flesh. We feel the blood, some trickling a long stream of red, others joining to form a river. Had we knew this was going to happen, would we have grabbed the rose a first chance? I don't know. All I know is that, the thorns are still there, I am still holding the rose, and the senses are starting to dull the effects. Maybe one day the fingers will numb enough to ignore the pain, but I know for sure, the second I picked up the rose, that I would never put it down again.