Black roses grow
where you once stood in my heart.
Their thorns rip me apart,
cover me in dripping, glistening blood,
but they're
more beautiful than you.

They hurt me with full intention to,
not like your ignorance.
They may **** me
but I don't care.
You beat me down this far already,
and now I'm way past getting up,
so I'd like to die selfishly,
more beautiful than you.