It lay there,
crushed under the wheels
of her hasty exit.
With that suitcase 
which never really got past 
the doorway.
Tears may flow like water
But they are as useless as anything else I say to her.
For better or for worst are just words to fill a requirement...
And it leaves me cut to the bone.
Just waiting for the scar,
Which will serve as a reminder
Not to give my heart away again.
As I ponder of the bloody thorn
on the final rose.