Roses are red.

So is the blood we shed.

Innocence, tainted by black.

It's amazing how we survive,

In a world with such a great divide,

Of things that are the same,

But completely different.

It's beautiful, that is sure.

But with thorns that hurt and rip and scorn and burn.

Constriction, yet openness all around.

I've got no growing room.

And yet I stand,


Or I am surrounded?

I can't tell anymore.

Blue, the supposed color of rain and tears.

Personally, I think it's more of a grey.

It flows and it looses control.


Black, the unknown inside.

Hidden away, it's a mix of all others.

Supposedly bad.

I think it's more of a sad.

Or is it alone?

Or is it crowded?


Versatile, Possibly a winner.

Running wild.

Black and White entwined.

They are better off together.