The rose in my hand
is wilting black
cold as ice
and black as black
for you to touch
the rose of the black
that will never see
that will never feel
the warmth of the light
the pieces of the petals
are starting to fall
fall into the pool of your blood
the blood from your wrist
the hot tears falling
down your face burning lines
that are unable to live with
the apathy of lust
kills everything you lived for
help her now before she goes
help her now before the rose goes
before it shatters to pieces
