Twisted Rose

She is the rose who bled for love but lost her true self in the fantasy of the dream of the blood pages he promised her but never came in the form of happy endings in tales she thought was real. For it appears her towards being happy has become madness for this rose been reborn who turned black and grown thorns and bleeds black oil from a heart turned cold and ice even her friends of the night finds twistedly nice. For she left her soul to die in the desert where her tears dries up before it reaches her lips of sweet color of dark coals for comfort  only to be denied. For the poets she once found direction as a compass as a guide made her die to that false prince that made her almost a bride. For we know her  by the scars she has to bear has left the norm she once care to follow but now the raven to fly to guide us both day and night showing the way us roses must follow and sing her song as an anthem for all who will listen and fly to the special place we The Outcast.