He walks so slowly down this lonely dirt road…And the beautiful rose tempts his cold grey eyes. He reaches down to grasp it in his hand… And the thorns prick his tender hand. Crimson drops from the fingertip to dirt and he walks on. As he sits on this rotten earth still licking his wounds…She approaches. With hair of the richest gold and eyes the color of a summer sky. She gently caresses him with a touch that none but him will ever know. This wraith with an angel’s body…So innocent. He’ll always remember her gentle caress as she stole his innocence away… And he always bleeds. That same fingertip stills drips as she so sweetly sucks the venom out… And she licks his wounds clean all while killing him softly. He gently whispers to her… And she fades quietly out of sight. Now he sits with her poison in him. He can’t, he won’t take this anymore. He reaches down and picks that same violent rose… this time without a scratch. He takes this petal of razor blades and slits his own throat. And as the blood seeps out this fragile wound he cries… And he never makes it home.
