The Black Rose Drips Red Blood

The Black Rose Drips Red Blood

A black rose bloomed in silent dread,

Its petals dark as words unsaid.

A velvet crown of shadows grew.

At zits heart, red blood came through.

A single drop, a quiet tear,

Slipped from the thorns like frozen fear.

Not morning dew nor ruby rain,

But blood that spoke of hidden pain.

The stem stood tall, the leaves did weep,

For secrets that the roots still keep.

A lonely king with poison thorns,

A heart bleeds though as it mourns.

The petals whisper in the night,

A haunted bloom in silvered light.

Each wound it bears, a silent scream,

A love long lost, a broken dream.

It drank the dark, it kissed the gloom,

It fed on sorrow’s silent bloom.

The crimson drip, a solemn mark,

A burning flame within the dark.

Yet still it grows, both fierce and bold,

A story etched in black and gold.

A flower cursed, a soul misled.

A rose that bled, a rose that bled.