This poem was written and sent to me by a woman I still care deeply for even though our paths have parted. We have reconciled and have a pretty good friendship now.  This is a version of a poem she has on  her site .

Untitled (as I said, it was part of a letter)

Blood red roses
  he gave to me
hoping I'd accept
  his apology.
He thought I'd be OK-
  I walked away with a smile
but the feelings will come
  just give them a while.
As I sit in isolation
  I begin contemplation
The roses hue
  is my first clue.
I sit and plan just what to do.
Remembering "Wine is fine
  but whiskey's quicker.
Suicide is slow
  with liquor."
I stroll to the bathroom
  to find my only friend-
this cold platinum
  to hasten my life's end.
I stop by the mirror
  just for a look.
The eyes say it all,
  they're like a book.
One last look
  at my troubled face
I'm about
  to lose my race.
But I no longer care
  about such trivial things.
All I think of
  is the pain red brings.
I slice one wrist,
  and then the other.
I say a silent prayer,
  "Please God, help my mother."
Blood runs forth
  a shocking shade
just like the roses
  he bought that God made.
I fall to the floor
  my blood mixes with the flowers.
Knowing he'll know
  in just a few hours
is such sweet revenge.
  For with me taking my life
will his guilt ever end?
He'll be free
 to do as he chooses
but in consequence
 his first love he loses.
She can have him
 for now I'm gone
my life will end
 with the setting of the sun

  -A.B.S., 4/1/95