razor blades and roses

the angel of death
brings me black roses
dipped in my blood

the shadows are dancing
in the background
at the prom i never attended

i wear the prom queen's tiara
 made of razor blades and roses

we all pretend i haven't
already peeled my face off

when i speak into the microphone
everyone just hears static

you drink my blood 
in a champagne glass
and look the other
way

 my prom dress
is  made of  death poetry
and torn bed sheets

when i leave the room
no one notices

except him

when he opens the door
to the hearse

he tells me
black roses
turn red
at the end