Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god


A rose is still a rose by any other name
And a rose by any other name still smells as sweet,
But I am the rose that rose from a concreted world.
I am the rose who is but a bud now, a black rose
Who has yet to spread her petals wide
To show the world a different beauty.
I am a rose who shows you pain by a simple prick,
And take a pair of scissors at me for
I will surely multiply and wouldn't you hate
To live in a world of darkness created by a black rose
That rose from concrete smelling sweet, by any other name?

April 14, 2004

*I just wrote this an am already overly fond of it.

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