Thread: Roses (content?)

“Do we have to do this? It's freezing.”
He twists in his seat to glare at me.
I move my gaze to the car's floor.
“It's not as if she knows,” I mutter.

A dozen white roses, as always.
Classically cliché.
It is cold in this graveyard,
no color save that of a few other flowers
placed in front of silent stone.

The ride home is uncomfortable.
Sister holds his hand and I wonder
if I ever had that connection with him.

I wonder if she knows
he does this routine every year.
If she somehow senses that,
does she understand how I feel
when hit?

Does she pity me as she sees me
devour these pills?
I doubt it.
Her body has decayed into the dirt
and no roses will change that.

Some very dark stuff Damien. I think I am getting as much of the story from what you don't say as I do from what you do say. I'm going to have to come back to this one a few times.