Roses of sorrow,
Without a tomorrow,
Devoid of mirth,
Craving rebirth.
A barren soul
In a garden of ghouls,
Its lifeless eye
Ever-fixed on the sky,
A sky grey as mud,
The stars dark as blood,
No light to be found,
No soul-soothing sound.
No promise of morn
But the caress of a thorn,
Blood seeping into a hole
In the middle of the soul.
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