• Sitting out in the graveyard, a single black rose in had , rain pouring down. But I don’t care, a grey fog starts as the rain decreases enveloping the near by surroundings, tears streaming down my face, I am already pained by the troubles of this world I don’t mind the cold and the wet. I am now seeing the sadness of the graveyard all the flowers of morning people past and present I cant even see the joy of the blissful tiger lilies. Nights pure blackness is one comfort I can find this night. Twilight above with the moon showing its grief upon this poor soul. Realizing that I have gripped the rose to hard I wince at the sight of the deep red blood oozing down my arm into the damp grass where it lay like devilish rubies. Graves growing taller as I collapse on to the pool of blood in the grass, helpless and feeling nothing at deaths cold grip takes hold and I slip into void. The rose, still in my now lifeless hand, glows and turns white then is stained crimson in the glistening evil.