Held to the bottom
I want to release this numb feeling
To fee this emptiness
I want to defeat this memory
These unyielding ideas and stories.
I want to hit it down and strangle this life
I want to hold it down under the thick mud beneath my feet
I want to watch it take its last breath
To watch the insane life wither out of its eyes.
I want to **** it
I want to ****
Me.

A dying rose
Yes that's me.

A fragile little thing,
Miscolored and broken.

Just a Tap
can cause oh so much damage.

But somehow
You never get the memo.

Always plucking
My fragile petals.

Always clipping
At my thing little stem.

But it'll be alright
I promise.

But before you pluck my dear last petal.
I warn you,

Don't.

My petal falls,
The pinky red color filling my eyes.

You didn't listen.
I rise.

No matter how small I seem to be.
You can never beat me.

Vines and thorns
Surround me.

They protect a newly found rose.
I, my dear friend,
I am the Black Rose.

You,
You are simply red.

My new petals shine and glow.
I was hiding behind my walls
Yet I realize I needn't be hiding.

I'm myself, black.
And nothing less.
I won't hide to fit in.
I will shine and be myself.

With thunders and lighting,
We bid farewell to the home,
Deserving the European chrome.

The rivals celebrated the win,
We wept in deep sorrow,
Not of defeated, Neither humiliation,
It was something far important,
Our home, died, on a night
even the sky cried.

The night, we won,
Yet lost everything we had,
There was deep sorrow somewhere,
In a city lit up with festive joy,
Thats where Vicente Calderon was,
The home to Los RajiBlancos.

Life is ephemeral like pink cherry blossom flowers.
Lasting briefly oh isn't it beautiful?  Bittersweet?
Fate a short book, when written could be read in just mere hours.
The last page is the end of it all, accept your defeat.

For no one is immortal, eventually we die.
Its just a fact of life, when you are gone, take your last breath,
Memories and all that you know and love is left behind.
Dust covers graves, and covers minds, they've forgotten your death.

But why care? You're six feet under the ground they walk upon.
Their feet kiss your corpse as they step on what's become of you.
Pitter patter, footsteps innocent, for what they're stepping on is gone,
The only thing left is bones, no heart beats, lips cold, pale blue.

People prefer to pretend life isn't a total mess.
But in reality everyone's mind is wrecked, corrupted
They say you're important, but when you're gone you're not missed.
The cruel ways they talked will still go uninterrupted