In the dark fields of my mind, there lies a labyrinth…in the shape of two intertwined roses, rooted in my depths. One white and soft as velvet, the other black with thorns so pointed.
And in that labyrinth I falter, and walk alone as lost as ever. In the white rose I breathe. In the black I bleed. Through soft leaves the heart smiles, through dark thorns it just dies. For some moments I’m painted white, then dyed with the color of night. Two roses, two worlds, two lives, two souls.
The whisper of a voice: “make a choice.” But choice is a gift I was deprived of. For the white is but an adorned lie. To choose it? I’d rather die. And the black you might ask? Is it not the bare truth that wears no mask? But the truth, I’d reply, is merely the reflection of a world so vile. So I’m torn between hell and fire. Either way I will expire. And again I stray, never choosing a way.
But just as time heals, the innocence it also steals. And the thorns start to grow, and the white loses its glow. And the black rose eats away the bright, and takes over like a parasite. And so with time, the white withers, and the heart coldly shivers. Time, ever healing and stealing. Is it never ending?
And when the light is all consumed and to eternal darkness I’m doomed, will regret devour my soul? For never choosing the color of snow? And if time is proved a thief once again? And turns the roses into ashes, what would remain? I can see me, a shade walking on gray. In an indifferent void, no night or day. I can feel apathy as it instills and the burning decay of my heart it slowly fills.
Oh dear time, my scars have been healed to nothingness and my innocence has been stolen to emptiness. There are no scattered pieces left of me for you to mend. So why not destroy the wall standing before your end?