Silence sounded soothing & sagacious
Time stood still...Solitary stayed selfish & superstitious.
This, tingled senses; that bell tolled & manifested a macabre Misery.
Since solitude strengthened a spot;
Mine own nightmares grew into one Succubus, filled with immorality - ****** desires...
Somewhere, somehow, I'm a lingering loner looking for love - a sentiment that never dies!
Life ended, memories remained copious;
Silence suffocated & since, misery concluded,
My addiction added a fastidious aura - some kind of flirtatious facade.
All donating a desolate & oblivious tragedy.

~ A. Rose

Sorry but not sorry
For the things that I have done.
Sorry but not sorry
For all the pain under the sun.

　And all the longing to set ourselves apart
　From the will of the masses,
　Though we clearly stand as one.

　And the reticence to play our part
　In building on new bridges,
　Though we clearly need them now.

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short -
　　Sorry but not sorry
　　For writing off this song.

Sorry but not sorry
For all the excuses that I make.
Sorry but not sorry
For not owing back what we take.

　And all the mannerism along which we pretend
　To care so much about the future,
　Though we clearly act for our only sake.

　And the conflicting messages that we must send
　As we aim to **** the messenger,
　Though we clearly all covet his fame.

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short,
　　Sorry but not sorry,
　　For writing off this song.

Sorry but not sorry
For casting off one more blame.
Sorry but not sorry
For the ills that one must name.

　And all the finger-pointing with no concrete action
　As we forget the final hour,
　Though we clearly hear the call

　And all the conflicts that we set in motion
　As we bow to the god of power,
　Though it clearly draws our fall

　　Short story long,
　　Long story short,
　　Sorry but not sorry,
　　For writing off this song.

My mind,
Shaping the melancholy

My heart,
Lamenting in agony

My pride
Rejoicing, claims victory

My self
Succumbing, tired & weary

My downfall
Blaming, nobody but me…

I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for all the folly in our atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one who exhaled the most

Remember, your father told you,
"We run the most standing still,"
But my stars have remained perpetually frozen
Since my love ceased blushing your alabaster skin

If you cinch the tourniquet too tightly,
To summer's dismay, I may not heal by autumn
And whether you whisper treasons of the universe or not,
My anchor's still aweigh by first light

Broken words taste bitter upon my tongue,
And it's becoming clearer and clearer
That you were my road to Arcadia
But, as I am prone to do, I derailed us both

I see you glancing at the brush,
But our bristles don't hold paint the way they used to
And for this achromatic atmosphere, I am sorry
I know I'm the one in black and white