Longing For a Rose at My Grave

Prefer you my romantical ghost
with beating heart and spirit
ascending from this grave
to show I still love you?  

Prefer you a love-letter
from the depths of my grave?
A letter penned in ink,
or in the tears from my veins?

Prefer you to pluck a crimson rose
adorned with vicious thorns wreathing
my headstone, watching the falling petals
plunge into the moss over my grave?

Prefer you then to lay on my grave
in the hope that you’ll sink into my hell?
To sip Rose Wine with me one last time
and let our spirits bloom, soar, and blood surge?

Prefer you that I claw out
of this grave of solitude to chase you?
Prefer you the bleeding meat
in the center of my chest?

Prefer you to embrace
my ghost with a thawing affection?
Prefer you now to massacre
my bleeding heart with a goodbye?

Prefer you a heart-shaped spirit
clad in filthy rags?
Prefer you gore-filled chocolates
or a vanilla bunny?

Prefer you the thudding brain of my spirit
to burst through my chest with longing?
Prefer you the eyes of my soul
to glaze over or shall I shut them forever?