She Is the thorn within beauty
Ever silent, static elegance
Her rage burns near by.

The purity of the petals
Waiting in the darkness
To feed, pollen succumbs
those exposed, drawn, enticed
By her fragrance.

She is the picture of beauty
A contradiction of a place
Enveloped in darkness, but
All is not what it seems, for
She is the thorn that will
Bleed you dry.

For all that fall, a new flower
blossoms, and she becomes
Sharper. As she has a rage burning
That must be fed, for the petals will
Fall and the thorn will be no more.