the black rose
In a desert of mixed pain and love,
under the full moon above,
still, on a pile of betrayals,
stands the black rose, withering all.
She endures deception storms,
sadness under all its forms,
petals of the lonely flower seduces dead souls,
and of them, makes monsters and ghouls.
but a normal rose, she as been,
and she was in love.
But without any love watering,
she never stopped withering.
And of infinite sadness
is born infinite badness.
And with a iron heart, she arose,
and became the black rose
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