Your bones etch blood-tipped poison into my mind,

Creaking softly, like a lullaby; never knowing its meaning,

A willow grows by the river of my mind’s innocence, but the willow dies,

Diamonds stretch from the depths of my unconscious, under created catastrophe.

Waters seal my fate, adrift on a rotten undergrowth; too quiet to understand,

Yet, my age is but a bluffer of what seems to be one’s intellect,

I walk on the path of murky vengeance, though I do not know why,

My blood incarnates into a black rose, beauty and pain, no one knew.