The Black Rose

There is a black rose with many thorns.

The thorns are my pain which has sadly been born.

The petals are my emotions which weaken each and every day.

And the color is my soul which blackens the light away.

You see this rose is my life which that has become something more.

Suicidal tendencies have been knocking on my door.

And as the rain pours down, the pain grows stronger.

Its life then becomes much longer.

Born of hatred this rose reveals the tears.

Just the look of it brings pain through the years.

But why must I live like this every single day.

Id rather end it all then keep running away.

Pain will then never find me and this rose will die like me.

The feelings inside will then be plain to see.

You will notice the colors fading and the thorns are cut away.

This flower of painful memories will begin to fade away.

My tears fall like lead and you hear their dying stop.

The torment still lingers though they suddenly pop.

If listen very closely you will still hear
their cries.

Like this rain covered rose which withers and dies.