In between such delicate fingertips;
She holds the blackest of roses,
And the dark petals brush her lips.
Her sombre shadow across her face,
Describes the bleakest of life's loses.
Such sweet scent floating in the air;
She breathes in the aroma of the black rose,
That scarlet stem entwines in her raven hair.
Her enchanting eyes are but a glaze,
Those wells of happiness have all but froze.
Thorns of iron dig into her soft skin;
She screams from the pain of that bloody rose,
With it's intoxication of simplistic sin.
Her haunting presence brings haste,
To a silence of a death nearing close.