my fingers scribble on the sidewalk in red
they are wet chalk being drenched over and over with the blood from my veins that are clogged except at the tips of my fingers which trace over the marks you left on my skin
I fill in the petal of the red rose but ***** my fingers on your thorns
You are dangerous yet beautiful
You are a black rose in a field of red
You are the one that beautifies death
You are a forest fire
You are....