A dozen roses, with daggers posed as stems,
A half-hundred thousand eyeballs, sleeping REM,
A silver-tongued promise, a tale as old as time,
Tear your soul a new one, a reflection in a dime,
Hunger like a graveyard, silence like a sin,
Ghosting ever-after, don’t do things on whim,
Coupled once with anger, lying, twice as sad,
Truth buried deeper, driving you thrice as mad,
Heart like a yellow sun, grins as black as ash,
Watching ugly masses, chasing glory, green cash.
Live a lie if one must, or chase a fleeting dream,
Others sit in solitude, awoken as they keen.
