Half A Dozen Roses

Six hearts with thorns,
my passionate collage of red,
withered but not yet dead.
Entwined like beauty and beast,
a portrait of gray hues and ugly blues,
and my fingertips traced creases on a beautiful face,
butterflies and night skies in a dance of grace.

Five shadows sprawled across the stars,
even the red lights of Mars.
Petals strewed upon her tongue,
crisp and sour with secrets and lies,
a gleam...of sincerity in her eyes,
yet I twist in the depths of dreams,
a mournful response to erotic screams.

Four fires ignited within a strand of hair,
burnt and tasteless like my lips,
a thousand and one for the automatic eclipse.
And I no longer see,
the dreary mists of heartache blew,
cold steam from a cup of blood and tea,
misery....the sweet and twisted brew.

Three tears staining glass steps,
shatter beneath me and I fall,
feel pathetic...weak...small.
Dance mother, dance,
spill your blood unto the fields where which you prance,
and sing me the devil's lullaby tonight,
bury me, dreamily, in a coffin of sorrow and fright.

Two hollow symphonic breaths,
faint distortion...explicit loss,
skin tattered and painted with moss.
Older than a plastic rose,
and nobody knows,
I buried myself in the ashes of insanity.

One last goodbye,
one final kiss...
one more glance through this screen of bliss.
Weave sighs unto last smiles,
the next ones will be a while...
and cross my heart, hope to die,
bless me father, it's time I didn't cry.

Half a dozen roses,
thus my written fate,
shimmering in the brilliance of an everlasting heart.
Six names, six scars, six passions...
ignited by Hellfire fashions,
and the ruins of faded art.