She's wearing old, ripped clothes,
She's so close I can see through her hollow eyes,
She hold's out to me, a dying black rose,
Her lips stitched together to cover her lies,
She stands at the foot of my bed,
As I reach up to her,
Towards the frail rose my hand ascends,
She start's becoming a blur,
My vision clears quickly,
I realize shes no longer here,
But I know she'll always be with me,
Controlling me through my fear,
But out of the corner of my eye,
I see it, the rose of death,
A representation of eternal night,
A symbol of the one who takes my breath,
Long it was since she fell,
Yet she haunt's me every night,
She escape's right out of hell,
Just to give me a little fright.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem