The Black Rose...

He walked down the street,

his black rose in hand.

The tears of blood pouring out his eyes.

She rejected him,

his broken heart destroyed.

His tears of blood,

running onto the black rose,

seeming as if it cried its own blood.

He hated the world.

No sense in living in it.

People only hate.

Why should he care?

Nobody else did.

All they ever did was lie.

The black rose,

now red with blood,

He tossed it aside,

pulling another black rose from his pocket,

black like his soul.

He held it close to him as if it were everything,

his tears of blood pouring over it,

protecting it from the blood.

He watched the world go by.

He secluded himself in darkness,

unable to bare these pains.

Nobody ever could have.

No,

not in any frame of time!

He could take no more!

He burst out,

his darkness enveloping the world,

he screamed loudly!

Letting all hear his pain!