Blackened
Camouflage me,
I am no good kill.
I’ve got one hand on the pin
Of the grenade I call love.
Like a black rose
I’ve wilted at your feet.
Your smile is like daggers
To my tortured soul,
My pained heart.
But smile on
For your torture’s the best kind there is.
Granted, I’ve got too much going for me,
And not enough to give.
What do I have to offer you?
I guess no one would want
Some dark and tortured poet as their girl.
But maybe you’ll see things my way,
My cold and twisted, soulless way.
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