The rain came falling down onto your scriptures,
Scriptures of the deserved praise of poetry.
Your eyes focused on the ground,
Whilst the tears became dry.
You sat in the dark corner of the room,
Wanting someone to shine a light of positivity.
Your beautiful hair - once expressed a Celtic talent -
Now looks plain and dull, as it covers that unique beauty you call a face.
You fall to one side, crying my name,
But I could not hear.
If I did, you know I would've saved you from your monsters.
You begin to think of suicide as your option,
But my darling love, it will never be the answer.
The monsters will win, if you perform it.
Please, my sweet and delicate rose, say my name again,
I beg thee.
I shall come - I promise.
I love thee, for you are what our leaders say
'The Dark Light of Negativity' of my world.
A poet's biggest inspiration is the one who loves him -
As a friend, a lover, a significant other half.
My humble butterfly, I am now beside you.
I drape my arms around you, holding you close to my vampire corpse,
While you grow that smile I once knew on your beautiful face.
"I love thee," I whisper, "I love thee."
Picking up your scriptures, I tossed them out into the rain.
It was when I looked at the scriptures I noticed no poetry of suicide is for
The human eye.
I grabbed thy hand and kissed thee,
Whilst asking, "Marry me?"