The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...it makes her stand out in her own way...
The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...to her it resembles the small beauty she sees in herself...
The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...as beautiful as they are, to her it showed how lovin n gentle she can be...
The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...her smile is as beautiful as the roses on her hair but her eyes full of tears as a rain cloud...
The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...she sings out to those she trusts, they say her singin is beautiful...
The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...she loves the company of her friends but sometimes its loneliness she desires...
The girl in black has a crown of white roses on her hair...says thank you to all who read this poem n enjoy it, she worked hard to make it as beautiful as it sounds as u read it

X's of red rest upon her hand, as small drops of hope & dreams flow out of her hand, eyes once sparkled with many joys & hopes for a life much greater to make up for the many hells she got caged in now dull & empty, lips long to smile the biggest smile she ever smiled...she fakes her smile to keep from hurtin' a single soul that surrounded her with their hearts shown to her that rest on their hands, on her hair rest a crown of midnight blue roses, the color of which fits her eyes best...as the many past x's still rest on her hand...& many more will come for as long as she lived & of wolves howlin' to the flare celestial body who lives in her dark forest worl...

Greetings old friend...my, my how long it's been since you last came tappin' upon my french doors that lay on me?...do you recall their happiness t'was shared between their gaze...do you recall the love t'was shared between their lips of never endin' grin...t'was once the girl in black's soul with her best friend's souls that danced above the night gloomy little world...but their souls never moer danced, thou could hear her cries as her past turned into lucid dreams that every blood drippin' wound she can feel...as the waterless world fills with water of sorrow as others drown in it...skin & bone...bone & skin she feels every dough that wonders in her cave with spikes she feels as if she as big as the world...but her friend you know what is become of her...she'll see you in the night sky...

In the blackest of hell tide, high in a grand tree with it's clothin' white as snow but it's skin as black as hell...a female dove of hell tide rests in the grand tree.
The tree of which her hopes & happiness hangs by a thread on the topiary extensions of her home, she with her pale icy blue eyes her souls wonder around the white-land hell tide.
In search of her lost companion she longs for to be at her side to warm her & her child within her bust, she does as a mother would.
Restin' her child underneath her to keep her warm as the dove's feather tips turn ice white as she cries out for her mate to return to her aid & restore her & her child's warmth & eyes of hopefulness...

She does not perorate to him, fear fills her mind & croor why?...it is unknown but everytime their eyes meet her child skips a brum beat, her paunch gets overwrought in his presence, her soul longs for his aid, her child longs for his amiability, her oculus longs for his oculus to domineerin' hers, her frame longs for his predilection, her hand longs for his...but winter rests long & stubbornly between them she serenades for him but he evades her serenades she falls on her knees & weeps & ensecure herself like a tranchula does.
Weeks feel like months somber is her new lust partner, her life companion & their child is the one that loafs in her *******, tucked away, unpoisonous. Her child is what keeps the muted predecessor alive & what made her so stonewall & untrustin' bourgeois to emancipate her & her child...the muted predecessor & her child have been indignant to many times & she isn't contingentin' never more, mother grows enervated & distended from the correlations she went through & the many bourgeois her child has met & adored deeply & who it has played with & now predecessor & progeny are aghast to amity & entrust anyone they meet...

As the roses are blood red from their holders & the untouched land with the blackest of black blood from the stylograph & the tears of the broken hearted a demon of peace & war & of mother proclivity her eyes glow of pale icy blue sat underneath the oceanic sky as she longed of her former inamorata but a small child like part of her significant other despises her inamorata for they broke her significant other almost into twos she fears for her enchanted rose beneath her ***** & her young demon to which beheld a beautiful ghost white rose that was where there ***** lays the rose bloomed oh so beautifully beneath the demon’s fatherly glistenin’ eyes which glowed a milky white as he starts to sing his nightly howl of a tune, his tune flowed through their hair & gently rubbed against their hands & their faces as the demon watched her young dance with the stars that flown around them & the mother demon sang along as their pack of wolves howl & ran around the two but as the beauty of day rises the stars & the wolves fade into smoke & as mother & child fade as ashes & went up to the fatherly glistenin’ eyes where they forevermore lay at rest..