Black Rose

I'm not pretty , I'm not pink
I like it more when other people are
I'm tainted , I like white
But I realize, black with a heart
is a thousand times better , than the purest white without.

There is a black rose , there is a white

I knew it before I started to write
I wonder if I bring it by the power of thought
the black one sometimes, because I enjoy it the most.

There is a weeping inside, I cannot stop
it is like bleeding from the heart of a serene land,
tears flowing out from between rocks and moss....

It's a boon and its a curse
its fresh and thriving
it could also drown the green

I have to tear it out, the little black spot
wrench it out of my being
throw it away, far away

even though i know it'll boomerang

may be because my thoughts attract it back.