Nothing pretty comes without its flaws.
The beautiful red rose, you admire,
Draws blood with its sharp thorns.
It's beauty is deceitful
The colour draws you in
And its ability to please,
Makes you submit.

My roses are black
Attractive only to few
Who understand the darkness,
I hold beneath the hue
And my thoughts are my thorns
Lethal and, laced with poison.
© Al Ex