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this one is Really dark. and for those that like death, blood, and PAIN


the rose of death
she holds in her hands
its color as dark as
midnight in the middle
of an icy winter

the nothingness within
the darkness clouds up
her mind to where she
has no thought, feeling
or emotion

it resembles the sight
of death that she
will soon see for herself

the rose of death
she holds within
clasped hands
its petals as sharp
as razors with
one delicate touch she
bleeds crimson trinklets

thus affine the
sharpness of
lifes last breaths
for hers are to come
soon enough

the rse of death
she posses in
her delicate hands
its thorns shop
as nails shoot out
from the stem
her frail hands
stabbed by each
thorn from such a rose

from which coorespond
the pain of death
when it first hits
then graciously fades
this pain she already
experiences proving
her death is near

the rose of death
she holds definly
grasped in her bloody palms
its strem, such a
dreadfully dark shade
of green, is a rugged
shard of glass
she holds it fearing
is deadly tip

such a thing defines
the stake as the fatal blow
that will drive through her
mournfully dark heart

she screams of
agony from the rose of
death her mind
seeing only the darkness
of the nothingness,
her fingertips numb
of being sliced by the
petals of blades
her palms spiked by
the nails of the stem
known as thorns,
heart pierced by
the rugged shard of stem

she bleeds out all
of her crimson blood
the air now filled with
the metallicy scent
and the bitter taste
of blood and death
she dies apathitcly
and in excrutatingly painful

the rose of death
withers away
scattering petals
in the ruby pools
of her gleaming blood
ready to bloom
again until it reaches
the next victim