I wonder why these things haunt me
I see the scarlet rose sitting so peacefully and silent upon a mountain,
Totally unobtainable and bloody.
It kills the souls of those who gaze at the brilliance of its color.
So many have tried to climb the mountainside and have died just on that
They will never see the rose at its best.
Much less have seen the bloody thorns
And have looked for hours at its brilliance
And deadliness

When will it rest?
The want to see the Rose
I can imagine it
I can dream it
I can't see it
When will it be disappear?
Inside I hold this fear
I won't open my eyes to the beauty
The darkness sends me a picture of what lies beneath the epidermis
I hope I assume right about the.

Treachery and the want to pleasure me
But I ignore these sad images
They won't add to my Vantages
In life what do they mean?
They only carry the reasons to carry on my sick gene
That thing that makes my children but taxes them
They have the sickness of wanting more life and more time
I want that too I can't lie
But who am I to deny what should be mine?
I'll find a way and for these words I pray:
Reach into the minds and give them what they need
They can tell themselves what they need
The helpless sheep
I just need to fill this sheet
Right now I need the Rose
It helps me with my prose
Influences my closet of clothes
It's inside me
I suppose

Written for myself,
Phillip M. Clarke
Ite Tung Luta (Ghost Face Paint From the West (roughly translated))