One day I met a girl
Her name, she said, was Dark
She could tell truth from lies
And fake feelings from real
And every night she told me
She goes home to an empty house
Sits on her bed in solitude
And cries herself to sleep
Sometimes she would lie awake,
Get out her black ink
And a very fine needle
She would carve roses with thorns
And buds of flowers
On her arms and legs, into her pale skin
Her and I had our weekly rituals
She showed me her new thorns
Black as darkness, Dark as sadness
Until there was nothing more to show
She became used to this state
Of being alone in her room
She finally became happy with herself
She was who she wanted to be.
Pretty soon on her pale skin
The black ink turned to green
The thorns faded, the roses stayed
And the buds blossomed
