Death Roses (a poem)

Death could come upon us at anytime,
Yet do we care?
For those of us who live for thrills,
Or hurt others to make us feel more important,
We don't even know when it happens,
As our sick twisted minds wrap around the fact that we're dying,
We only remember the scent of roses,
Blood roses,
Those thorny sweet smelling plants of myths that you only smell when dying a slow and torturous death,
As we go into the white light we only hear the sound of our rapidly beating hearts,
We go into the white light that can send us (If you believe in heaven or hell) into heaven or hell ,
Or its just the path that leads us to wonder upon the earth as a ghostly presence,
Or leads us to the sweet bliss of nothingness,
Or a reincarnated new life that erases all our memories of our past lives,
The memories of the horrors you had to face or do,
And yet if we did bad things in our past life we'll feel the urge to do them again,
And yet as we die we can still smell the strong aroma of the roses of death.........

THE END