Roses Are Black

Roses are black,
thorns are dead,
the boggy marsh,
it fills my head.

Something to say,
trapped inside,
no way to express it,
there it shall die.

Just like all the others,
that have passed me before,
I should have expected nothing different,
it's the same as before.

I in my dark cloak,
them at their guns,
the battle continues,
there is no fun.

Screw your love,
the love I need to find,
when you hold me in you in your arms,
when I wrap you in mine.

I am angry,
yes angry at you,
for not being there,
when I need you,
when I want you.

Angry at myself,
for being angry at you,
poisoned flowers,
the things I loose.

Prick my finger,
my blood runs black,
you figure it out,
I laugh at your attack,
your roses,
they are black.

As I turn,
to walk away,
I have nothing left to give,
no reason to stay,
and no clue,
what made it that way.

I am gone,
into the night,
running from nursemaids,
I was born to fight.

I can fight,
not part of who I am,
but something learned,
out like a lamb.

It's real.....

Mirror mirror shining black,
that I step into,
then look back.

'Tis myself I see,
I see what is wrong,
what I have done to me.

I shall leave the world,
far behind,
make myself happy,
allowing others to choose,
that was my crime.

The roses,
they are black,
I am wounded,
I'm catching too much flak.

Everything....
it always fades to black....
the roses are black....


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