The Thorn made me bleed
I took someone in my hands.
Were we meant to become something grand?
I didn't care, because she felt good and warm like the sands.
Out from the dark she drug me, I really needed the tan.
Her lips are poison.
Every time she kisses, my breath stops.
My mind, numbs in the moment.
I'd kiss her forever if I could.
Until my breath was all hers.
Until my eyes shared her vision.
I didn't need any supervision.
My lips bled, because she was different and fed from my life.
I could lose an ounce, to drown in her happiness.
Her eyes were brown and wide, evilly concentrating on taking my gaze
and turning it into a forbidden haze.
A Haze I couldn't see through.
A way for my lips to touch hers while she drunk me.
The pain was long since gone and feeling was all that I wanted to belong.
She was a thorn on that Rose.
A rose I would not let go.
I couldn't, no matter how much blood spilled or how sore that wound had tore.
Just to exist in this happiness meant that this thorn, that makes me bleed,
is too good to pull away.
I'll remember the day, when I found that girl of the Rose garden, who made me laugh and slowly die in joy.
I suppose in a way, a love like this is a happy toy.
Is there...Anything wrong with that?