They told me roses were red and every single time
I believed them but when I saw them the roses were
as black as the night with a few red streaks of shooting
stars that gave off a little bit of hope and room for wishes.
No one gives any attention to the tiny creases that
are still alive because the sea of black drowns
what had been strong enough to survive and I try to
help save them but the blackness creeps over me too.
The dried black petals fall apart at the slightest touch
like a person would fall apart upon touching for
the very last time the stone cold emotionless face of
the one they loved so much and everything turns black.
Unable to stop myself the rush of tears drenches me
and everything that I had ever wanted to tell you
pours out leaving me as empty as the hole that
awaits the coffin that holds your dead dreams.
The roses are still black but this time something
is changing and as you wipe away the tears trailing
down my face, I watch the tears of red brushing
away the blackness of the rose and bring it back to life.