The boy, with lashes thicker than rose stems,

sits alone, in a word where he's seen as the thorn.

His journey had taken him so long, to find himself,

and those - anyone - he could trust.

But when he told them, the angels of his town,

they turned on him, like bloodhounds in winter.

 

Oh, my beautiful angel,

could you not have held through?

I yearned to tell you, it took me so long,

I know, but you left me,

not knowing what to do.

 

The boy, with silky raven locks,

held the blade tight.

If they came closer (to hurt him, of course),

they'd see.

Not the only defese the boy could find,

but a soul too weak to go on.

 

Oh, my beautiful angel,

I saw you, crimson lipped and cold as their hearts,

lying in a mass of black and red,

and my heart could not bare,

the sight of our flight, in it's end,

so undeservingly brought.

 

So the boy, with glossy, catlike lips,

decided, "why let them down?

they'd only do the same to me,"

resolved to lake the blade upon himself.

And it rolled in his hands, shaking,

twisting.

But he did it anyway.

 

If only I let you see, you deserved the love of much more than me,

Oh, my beautiful you, who could have been so much,

wait for me, i beg of t h e e

 

And the boy, who knew he always was not,

showed the world how cruel life could be.

in that second his world was g o n e

 

I saw you, crimson lipped and cold as their hearts,

lying in a mass of black and red,

and my heart could not bare,

the sight of our flight, in it's end,

so undeservingly brought.