Black Rose

Black Rose

I might just be a black rose,
So deeply depressed,
So dark and black. . .
I want to be a bright, red rose, rather than being this disheartened, black rose,
I have fallen deep, oh so deep, inside this maze of bloodless petals.
Can I ever get out?
I need to get out of here.
Where’s the exit?
I’m lost.
Will I ever be found?
Can anyone help me?
Out of this cold and dark place?
Am I alone?
Do they even know I’m gone?
This black rose is consuming me.
I’m afraid I can’t escape!
It’s killing me.
I’m going to die. I know it! I do.
Oh, God. Please don’t let this be the end.
I’m dying inside this mortifying, black rose,
Between each and every disturbed petal.
It’s draining my soul,
Draining all bits of color from my life.
Now I know it’s what I’ve become.
Black Rose. . .
Yes, it’s taken me.
Will I ever be bright again?
Colorful?
Normal?
I think not.
No, I’ll stay like this, you see,
A darkening rose.
I won’t be the same.
I don’t like this feeling,
Tall walls drain every last bit of life from me.
I hate it.
But yet, I’m being drawn to it still.
Addiction, it’s caught me.
Sorrow, it kills me.
I feel too much sorrow, despair, pain, misery, all consumes me.
I’m overwhelmed by death’s kisses.
Please, help me! Anybody!
Before it may just be too late!
I cry ghostly tears, begging for help to obey me.
No, it’s too late.
Every last bit of life,
Has been lost, stolen, gone.
It no longer grasps my soul, my body.
I’m left here.
And here I lay,
Inside this dark and deep,
Black Rose.
It seems . . . I’ve met my end.