Companion of old,
Enemy of late,
What once was love,
Hath turned into hate.
Soft spoken and sweet,
Deceit is an art,
This hidden monster,
Knows well this part.
Black rose of death,
Of a gentler score,
Punctures your heart,
Yet you come back for more.
When you might try,
To get to your feet,
You only once more,
Will taste bitter defeat.
And when you are blessed,
With absence divine,
Envy shines green,
Again the monster will dine.
Feeding on heartache,
And soul under heel,
Envy and rage,
Is all that it feels.
Be there a chance,
That the weak will survive?
That thy spirit will fly?
And thy love will thrive?
Mayhap or maybe,
Perhap or perchance,
I will once more,
Be able to dance.
If the monster is slayed,
And laid down to rest,
And I wear it's bloody pendant,
across my own chest.
My heart will revive,
And be loving anon,
Once the monster is slayed,
...Once my best friend is gone.
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