Knives and Daggers

I suppose it’s sad to know,

that our withering stories fade.

The love we found so eternal

Was nothing other than a charade.

Like the rose enamored by lust,

Born only in the darkened mud.

Colors of a feeble hold,

You called it ruby, and I called it blood.

We were made of daggers and knives,

Holsters hidden upon my thigh,

Whispers of kings and queens,

Echo softly as they die.

“The young eternal rose,

The kiss of a dying light.

The lies, they petal away

Fading fast into the night.”

I can’t recount the day,

When I saw a stranger in your heart,

yet I fear it happened slowly,

A glass sword tore us apart.

Darling roses are to die for,

but what I always said was true:

I’d rather have white dahlias,

and simply die for you.

Oh the knives in my eyes and the glistening daggers in your smile,

Made our fates a little more bearable.

For through veiled blackness, a glimmering, blood dripping rose

Made our ending less terrible.

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