In her hand rests a thing of dark beauty
ugly yet so elegant
unclean and spotted yet pure as new fallen snow
a thing of dark beauty
. . .
upon her lips the tears of a broken lover have fallen
sweet and smooth in sad anger
for her lips where once his to kiss
for his ears alone would her lips whisper love
. . .
He will hear her whispers
no more
he will kiss her lips
no more
he is alone in his pain
. . .
she will sleep forever with a cold sad smile on her pale face
her lips sealed with his sad tears
and a bloody white rose dark and beautiful in her cold limp hand