Her Dying Rose

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.

by Jhanus Thanatos

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