Black-Rose

It is the black

when my instincts grip and my senses crawl

around, inside, and outside

claws grip onto the air

my eyes look to pierce the burning snow

meditating on the sound of the wind

the breeze brings in the songs of fortune

the black

burning fire of no light

reeking of pain charred into ash

from the grains of charcoal dew

arise the beast of no earth, no few

no face

no eyes

no sense

reaches out from the heart of steel

the black

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