Tuesday, August 28, 2012


A voice in the dark sounds of heartache aflame 

And memories as hoarse as black roses 

The strangling sourness of fear and of pain 

With the blinding aroma of choices 

In a complete room surrounded alone 

Grabbed by a glimmer of lights 

Risking pleasurable stabbings at home 

With the glamour cuts of the knife

Reciting the moves being bent like the stairs

Of having the unknown friends take ahold

The comforting beasts was intolerant of cares

If not for the devil, my soul they would've also sold

Comprehend things so to undertand

Reach for every desire

I still prefer to have black roses in hand

And my broken heart on fire

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