Yellow Roses

So close yet so far away,
I'm certain this is the phrase.
It fits perfectly.
I see you yet you are forever gone,
You are in the same room,
Miles away.
I wish I could reach out and close this distance,
Yet I made it worse, horrible.
My only excuse to talk to you was negative,
I still took the opportunity.
I needed to feel the distance lessen,
Desperate to see your face without sneaking.
Instead of being sly I'm a rude,
I wonder what's worse.
I was going to get closer,
Reach, grab, bask in your beauty,
Hold on and never let go.
Cherish you but not overwhelmingly.
I'm always overbearing when caring.
Its an issue I need to work on.
It make me annoying and clingy.
People tend to shake me off.
Push me away.
I was going to be careful with you.
Accept my fate.
Yellow roses.
The perfume overwhelms my senses.
Torturing by reminding.
Faux hope and fear filled dreams.
Dark skies and red rose beds.
You by my side.
I ignore the thorns till I bleed.
I take the pain.
I always do.
No one takes the thorns for me.
You are no exception.
So I give up.
Let go.
I must lower my self worth.
Place it too high and I'll fall hard.
I'll get over it, but for now I want you.
It's hard to see the future blinded by pain.
Thing will get better, but right now I'm hurting.
Bitter.
I'm a mess of thoughts.
Dark emotions fueling me.
Stemming from my positive moods.
I let them consume my mind.
Fade into my actions.
My actions only have one consequence.
I made all the wrong choices.
I must lay in this bed of roses.
Thorns and all.
Alone.
I miss our yellow roses.
The strong smell giving me a headache.
Its hilarious how I complained.
It may not have been enough for you
But I would rather take these thorns for you.
Then bleed alone.
Its extra pain with you.
Extra pain without you.
I must accept I have to take this pain without you.
I'm letting you go.
This doesn't mean I won't miss you.
You mean so much to me.
I'm worthless to you.
You have better things.
My self worth is honestly low.
I'll accept it.
I welcome fate with open arms.
Our roses have died.
We--I tried saving them smashing them.
In a book.
The form is not the same.
Dry, dull, crumbling.
There is no saving.
Flat, broken, lifeless.
It is dead.
Irreversible.
The smell is gone.
I miss my headaches.
The thorns are more prominent than the beauty.
The rainy skies and stormy clouds.
They nourish nothing.
What's done is done.
I am done.