Dark.

Loving.

Depressed.

Shaded.

Black.
 
That's what I would use to describe her soul.

Her personality. 

Dark words,
Crossed out with red,
Red blood.

Her raven hair,
Shined.
But only,
Through darkest times.

Poison flowed,
Through her thin veins.
When cut,
She bled dark blood.

Her black wings,
Contrasted with her pale skin.
She lived and breathed,
The spirit of the dead.

Dark.

But she was beautiful.
So beautiful, she seemed fake.
Her love for me was undeniable/ unconditional.
Our feelings were mutual.

Her eyes only searched
For floating dead beings,
My face,
And my love.

We were opposites,
But that's what kept us closer than ever.

The kisses I leave across her body,
Are permanent in her head.
The words I whisper to her,
Are air to her delicate body.

Her eyes shine,
At my presence.
Darken,
At fake pleads.

Loving.

She is alone,
No family,
Except for me.
But she's what I need.

When she sings,
Her voice gets caught,
By the tears she refuses to let go.

When she sings,
She sings with symphonies,
A lullaby,
Referring to demise and love,
Which I realize is her one life.

Shaded.

A soul darker than night,
But only since she has a heart of a pessimist,
She can never find happiness,
Sometimes she can't with me.

She cries in her sleep,
Thinking no one can hear.
She wishes to forcefully bleed,
But I'm a wall standing between death and her

Dark.

I love her,
More than light,
But I only wish,
For her to be happy.

A beautiful face,
A black soul,
She is my,

Dark Angel.